"repine" poems
Left out and drenched blue
The sky could not change it's hue
Solace found in night.
Persistent contrast
Each had made the sky alive
It winked thankfully.
Accepted this fate
What purpose lay in repine
Smiled, oh the sunshine azure!
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC
In vain to me the smiling mornings shine,
And redd’ning Phoebus lifts his golden fire:
The birds in vain their amorous descant join;
Or cheerful fields resume their green attire:
These ears, alas! for other notes repine,
A different object do these eyes require:
My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine;
And in my breast the imperfect joys expire.
Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer,
And new-born pleasure brings to happier men:
The fields to all their wonted tribute bear;
To warm their little loves the birds complain:
I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear,
And weep the more, because I weep in vain.
5.3k
When darkness long has veil'd my mind,
And smiling day once more appears,
Then, my Redeemer, then I find
The folly of my doubts and fears.
Straight I upbraid my wandering heart,
And blush that I should ever be
Thus prone to act so base a part,
Or harbour one hard thought of Thee!
Oh! let me then at length be taught
What I am still so slow to learn,
That God is love, and changes not,
Nor knows the shadow of a turn.
Sweet truth, and easy to repeat!
But when my faith is sharply tried,
I find myself a learner yet,
Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide.
But, O my Lord, one look from Thee
Subdues the disobedient will,
Drives doubt and discontent away,
And Thy rebellious worm is still.
Thou art as ready to forgive
As I am ready to repine;
Thou, therefore, all the praise receive;
Be shame and self-abhorrence mine.
4.4k
Why Damon, why, why, why so pressing?
The Heart you beg's not worth possessing:
Each Look, each Word, each Smile's affected,
And inward Charms are quite neglected:
Then scorn her, scorn her, foolish Swain,
And sigh no more, no more in vain.
Beauty's worthless, fading, flying;
Who would for Trifles think of dying?
Who for a Face, a Shape, wou'd languish,
And tell the Brooks, and Groves his Anguish,
Till she, till she thinks fit to prize him,
And all, and all beside despise him?
Fix, fix your Thoughts on what's inviting,
On what will never bear the slighting:
Wit and Virtue claim your Duty,
They're much more worth that Gold and Beauty:
To them, to them, your Heart resign,
And you'll no more, no more repine.
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By the fond name that was his own and mine,
The last upon his lips that strove with doom,
He called me and I saw the light assume
A sudden glory and around him shine;
And nearer now I saw the laureled line
Of the august of Song before me loom,
And knew the voices, erstwhile through the gloom,
That whispered and forbade me to repine.
And with farewell, a shaft of splendor sank
Out of the stars and faded as a flame,
And down the night, on clouds of glory, came
The battle seraphs halting rank on rank;
And lifted heavenward to heroic peace,
He passed and left me hope beyond surcease.
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(Phillipians, iv.11)
Fierce passions discompose the mind,
As tempests vex the sea,
But calm, content and peace we find,
When, Lord, we turn to Thee.
In vain by reason and by rule
We try to bend the will;
For none but in the Saviour's school
Can learn the heavenly skill.
Since at His feet my soul has sate,
His gracious words to hear,
Contented with my present state,
I cast on Him my care.
"Art thou a sinner, soul?" He said,
"Then how canst thou complain?
How light thy troubles here, if weigh'd
With everlasting pain!
"If thou of murmuring wouldst be cured,
Compare thy griefs with mine!
Think what my love for thee endured,
And thou wilt not repine.
"'Tis I appoint thy daily lot,
And I do all things well;
Thou soon shalt leave this wretched spot,
And rise with me to dwell.
"In life my grace shall strength supply,
Proportion'd to thy day;
At death thou still shalt find me nigh,
To wipe thy tears away."
Thus I, who once my wretched days
In vain repinings spent,
Taught in my Saviour's school of grace,
Have learnt to be content.
2.8k
He sendeth sun, he sendeth shower,
Alike they're needful for the flower:
And joys and tears alike are sent
To give the soul fit nourishment.
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father! thy will, not mine, be done!
Can loving children e'er reprove
With murmurs whom they trust and love?
Creator! I would ever be
A trusting, loving child to thee:
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father! thy will, not mine, be done!
Oh, ne'er will I at life repine:
Enough that thou hast made it mine.
When falls the shadow cold of death
I yet will sing, with parting breath,
As comes to me or shade or sun,
Father! thy will, not mine, be done!
2.5k
He sendeth sun, he sendeth shower,
Alike they're needful for the flower:
And joys and tears alike are sent
To give the soul fit nourishment.
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father! thy will, not mine, be done!
Can loving children e'er reprove
With murmurs whom they trust and love?
Creator! I would ever be
A trusting, loving child to thee:
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father! thy will, not mine, be done!
Oh, ne'er will I at life repine:
Enough that thou hast made it mine.
When falls the shadow cold of death
I yet will sing, with parting breath,
As comes to me or shade or sun,
Father! thy will, not mine, be done!
2.5k
A birdless heaven, seadusk, one lone star
Piercing the west,
As thou, fond heart, love's time, so faint, so far,
Rememberest.
The clear young eyes' soft look, the candid brow,
The fragrant hair,
Falling as through the silence falleth now
Dusk of the air.
Why then, remembering those shy
Sweet lures, repine
When the dear love she yielded with a sigh
Was all but thine?
2.3k
And wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again:
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so—
I would not give that ***** pain.
My heart is sad, my hopes are gone,
My blood runs coldly through my breast;
And when I perish, thou alone
Wilt sigh above my place of rest.
And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace
Doth through my cloud of anguish shine:
And for a while my sorrows cease,
To know thy heart hath felt for mine.
Oh lady! blessèd be that tear—
It falls for one who cannot weep;
Such precious drops are doubly dear
To those whose eyes no tear may steep.
Sweet lady! once my heart was warm
With every feeling soft as thine;
But Beauty’s self hath ceased to charm
A wretch created to repine.
Yet wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again:
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so—
I would not give that ***** pain.
2.2k
Why, why repine, my pensive friend,
At pleasures slipp'd away?
Some the stern Fates will never lend,
And all refuse to stay.
I see the rainbow in the sky,
The dew upon the grass;
I see them, and I ask not why
They glimmer or they pass.
With folded arms I linger not
To call them back; 'twere vain:
In this, or in some other spot,
I know they'll shine again.
2.1k
Why, why repine, my pensive friend,
At pleasures slipp'd away?
Some the stern Fates will never lend,
And all refuse to stay.
I see the rainbow in the sky,
The dew upon the grass,
I see them, and I ask not why
They glimmer or they pass.
With folded arms I linger not
To call them back; 'twere vain;
In this, or in some other spot,
I know they'll shine again.
2.1k
These locks, which fondly thus entwine,
In firmer chains our hearts confine,
Than all th’ unmeaning protestations
Which swell with nonsense, love orations.
Our love is fix’d, I think we’ve prov’d it;
Nor time, nor place, nor art have mov’d it;
Then wherefore should we sigh and whine,
With groundless jealousy repine;
With silly whims, and fancies frantic,
Merely to make our love romantic?
Why should you weep, like Lydia Languish,
And fret with self-created anguish?
Or doom the lover you have chosen,
On winter nights to sigh half frozen;
In leafless shades, to sue for pardon,
Only because the scene’s a garden?
For gardens seem, by one consent,
(Since Shakespeare set the precedent;
Since Juliet first declar’d her passion)
To form the place of assignation.
Oh! would some modern muse inspire,
And seat her by a sea-coal fire;
Or had the bard at Christmas written,
And laid the scene of love in Britain;
He surely, in commiseration,
Had chang’d the place of declaration.
In Italy, I’ve no objection,
Warm nights are proper for reflection;
But here our climate is so rigid,
That love itself, is rather frigid:
Think on our chilly situation,
And curb this rage for imitation.
Then let us meet, as oft we’ve done,
Beneath the influence of the sun;
Or, if at midnight I must meet you,
Within your mansion let me greet you:
‘There’, we can love for hours together,
Much better, in such snowy weather,
Than plac’d in all th’ Arcadian groves,
That ever witness’d rural loves;
‘Then’, if my passion fail to please,
Next night I’ll be content to freeze;
No more I’ll give a loose to laughter,
But curse my fate, for ever after.
1.6k
You say you love, and yet your eye
No symptom of that love conveys,
You say you love, yet know not why,
Your cheek no sign of love betrays.
Ah! did that breast with ardour glow,
With me alone it joy could know,
Or feel with me the listless woe,
Which racks my heart when far from thee.
Whene’er we meet my blushes rise,
And mantle through my purpled cheek,
But yet no blush to mine replies,
Nor e’en your eyes your love bespeak.
Your voice alone declares your flame,
And though so sweet it breathes my name,
Our passions still are not the same;
Alas! you cannot love like me.
For e’en your lip seems steep’d in snow,
And though so oft it meets my kiss,
It burns with no responsive glow,
Nor melts like mine in dewy bliss.
Ah! what are words to love like mine,
Though uttered by a voice like thine,
I still in murmurs must repine,
And think that love can ne’er be true,
Which meets me with no joyous sign,
Without a sigh which bids adieu;
How different is my love from thine,
How keen my grief when leaving you.
Your image fills my anxious breast,
Till day declines adown the West,
And when at night, I sink to rest,
In dreams your fancied form I view.
’Tis then your breast, no longer cold,
With equal ardour seems to burn,
While close your arms around me fold,
Your lips my kiss with warmth return.
Ah! would these joyous moments last;
Vain HOPE! the gay delusion’s past,
That voice!—ah! no, ’tis but the blast,
Which echoes through the neighbouring grove.
But when awake, your lips I seek,
And clasp enraptur’d all your charms,
So chill’s the pressure of your cheek,
I fold a statue in my arms.
If thus, when to my heart embrac’d,
No pleasure in your eyes is trac’d,
You may be prudent, fair, and chaste,
But ah! my girl, you do not love.
1.4k
5
I have a Bird in spring
Which for myself doth sing—
The spring decoys.
And as the summer nears—
And as the Rose appears,
Robin is gone.
Yet do I not repine
Knowing that Bird of mine
Though flown—
Learneth beyond the sea
Melody new for me
And will return.
Fast is a safer hand
Held in a truer Land
Are mine—
And though they now depart,
Tell I my doubting heart
They’re thine.
In a serener Bright,
In a more golden light
I see
Each little doubt and fear,
Each little discord here
Removed.
Then will I not repine,
Knowing that Bird of mine
Though flown
Shall in a distant tree
Bright melody for me
Return.
1.4k
Why, Pigot, complain
Of this damsel’s disdain,
Why thus in despair do you fret?
For months you may try,
Yet, believe me, a sigh
Will never obtain a coquette.
Would you teach her to love?
For a time seem to rove;
At first she may frown in a pet;
But leave her awhile,
She shortly will smile,
And then you may kiss your coquette.
For such are the airs
Of these fanciful fairs,
They think all our homage a debt:
Yet a partial neglect
Soon takes an effect,
And humbles the proudest coquette.
Dissemble your pain,
And lengthen your chain,
And seem her hauteur to regret;
If again you shall sigh,
She no more will deny,
That yours is the rosy coquette.
If still, from false pride,
Your pangs she deride,
This whimsical ****** forget;
Some other admire,
Who will melt with your fire,
And laugh at the little coquette.
For me, I adore
Some twenty or more,
And love them most dearly; but yet,
Though my heart they enthral,
I’d abandon them all,
Did they act like your blooming coquette.
No longer repine,
Adopt this design,
And break through her slight-woven net!
Away with despair,
No longer forbear
To fly from the captious coquette.
Then quit her, my friend!
Your ***** defend,
Ere quite with her snares you’re beset:
Lest your deep-wounded heart,
When incens’d by the smart,
Should lead you to curse the coquette.
1.4k
Well! thou art happy, and I feel
That I should thus be happy too;
For still my heart regards thy weal
Warmly, as it was wont to do.
Thy husband’s blest—and ’twill impart
Some pangs to view his happier lot:
But let them pass—Oh! how my heart
Would hate him if he loved thee not!
When late I saw thy favourite child,
I thought my jealous heart would break;
But when the unconscious infant smil’d,
I kiss’d it for its mother’s sake.
I kiss’d it,—and repress’d my sighs
Its father in its face to see;
But then it had its mother’s eyes,
And they were all to love and me.
Mary, adieu! I must away:
While thou art blest I’ll not repine;
But near thee I can never stay;
My heart would soon again be thine.
I deem’d that Time, I deem’d that Pride,
Had quench’d at length my boyish flame;
Nor knew, till seated by thy side,
My heart in all,—save hope,—the same.
Yet was I calm: I knew the time
My breast would thrill before thy look;
But now to tremble were a crime—
We met,—and not a nerve was shook.
I saw thee gaze upon my face,
Yet meet with no confusion there:
One only feeling couldst thou trace;
The sullen calmness of despair.
Away! away! my early dream
Remembrance never must awake:
Oh! where is Lethe’s fabled stream?
My foolish heart be still, or break.
1.4k
The caller
The one I speak of stands within castle walls dark and brooding from these walls unfurled banners hang a night’s honor it proclaims
From this far distant land your words of honor and tender love have reached many were the miles and time was breached
The tree tops sway down the valley across the glen on the wind his spirit does descend up to your amber lighted window framed
Opened heart this threshold he does cross into quiet deep shadows the mixture floral dreams pervade to you his honor laid
Whatever his vesture before now a kingly crown your words bestow an ethereal garland placed with tender fingers it does announce
Go forth to the garden it holds wonder and beauty far short of loves glory but the best place for a back drop set within this gazebo
Gaze into the fondest softest light among the great cherished gifts of this life and know that you are its crown all else you renounce
A great king of kings made it so relish your position your words are excepted they create favor and honor in the highest realm
A man is short and lost until the woman he finds that will be his bride his very power to reach and fulfill his potential glory
You walk and at times forget your place you forget you are the very embrace of the long sought out and needed grace
Soft as distant thunder you hair truly your glory splendor falls as tender as joy felt tears the ripest repine this scene’s unfolded story
Walk hand in hand under white cloudy skies as beautiful as your white flowing wedding gown on that memorable day relive it
Days press on they hold you together trees of honey suckle jasmine sweetest magnolia jump to mind just beyond the terrace
The grounds pass to the pond of rich waters where you reflection in the glinting sunlight finally shows more than a picture
Rarest climes you pass into engulfed you float in bliss first brought about from a kiss remember this treasured caress
These are the thoughts of your beloved I just put into words for him and you the words of a husband’s thankfulness live it
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 5:06 PM UTC
There was a Young Lady of Turkey,
Who wept when the weather was murky;
When the day turned out fine,
She ceased to repine,
That capricious Young Lady of Turkey.
1.1k
There was a time, I need not name,
Since it will ne’er forgotten be,
When all our feelings were the same
As still my soul hath been to thee.
And from that hour when first thy tongue
Confess’d a love which equall’d mine,
Though many a grief my heart hath wrung,
Unknown, and thus unfelt, by thine,
None, none hath sunk so deep as this—
To think how all that love hath flown;
Transient as every faithless kiss,
But transient in thy breast alone.
And yet my heart some solace knew,
When late I heard thy lips declare,
In accents once imagined true,
Remembrance of the days that were.
Yes! my adored, yet most unkind!
Though thou wilt never love again,
To me ’tis doubly sweet to find
Remembrance of that love remain.
Yes! ’tis a glorious thought to me,
Nor longer shall my soul repine,
Whate’er thou art or e’er shall be,
Thou hast been dearly, solely mine.
1.1k
sodden cheeks
drenched in sorrow's repine
the drops fell
with a saddening gush
little by little
the sides of the
face felt less wet
as the air of solace
toweled the harrowed skin
for an age
drab raining clouds
prevailed
each day the tourment
of loss being there to
remind
of a suffering ache
of the stress in agony
of the constant wailing
not on the wane
out of the dark pall
of demise
emerges
the bright sun's light
reconciling
the hours of grief
Apr 18, 2021
Apr 18, 2021 at 8:02 PM UTC
Time Expired and thus Unfettered
Like dusty files unopened on their shelves - serene and calm;
Behind locked doors these memories of war lived in my mind.
Distant images, long archived, evolved in Vietnam
But buried ‘neath the present of a very different kind.
But now those dusty files have tumbled to the ground.
Upended by the vigour of this fine new freedom I have found.
Without the shackles of that other life I find
The memories fresh and sometimes pleasant to my mind.
And so I take them up and dust them off these files long hidden.
Peruse each ancient, tattered memory page by page.
And let their content to my mind project unbidden
The flickering image of a long lost distant, youthful age.
And with these verses I have made for you, shaped by my pen, a light.
That you too might view the shadowed contents of my new found files.
Described between the lines of each is what it was to fight
A war, the grim visage of which was seldom wreathed with smiles.
But I conjure you look closely at these careful, recent woven lines of mine.
This tapestry conceals ideas that oft’ belie the written word.
Look underneath to seek the reason why my thoughts sometimes repine
Against a patterned camouflage which sometimes makes them seem absurd
Chimerical these hidden images that tumble on the edge of time?
Yes, but if you use the mirror of your own reality to construe,
To grasp the presence of that conflict these days almost always called a crime
Then might you judge these portions that I gladly offer you.
Apr 7, 2019
Apr 7, 2019 at 6:23 AM UTC
*True love must assert a soul binding liberty -
But what is right in you, seems like a crime within me.
Your favor leaves me nothing else to require,
You answer my every wish and long out-run all my desires.
What more can I expect while I live?
All your princessly diadems that you so sweetly give -
On that: there you pause; then sighing, you said,
This is justly destined for your worthy head.
For when from my toils I shall at long last rest,
This latest augment of this life - oh I’ve been so blest.
Your lawful issue shall to my lap once again ascend
To the collateral damage of my heart that somehow you end.
My love, though oppressed, moves toward your light -
Dauntless – secure – full of a native fight.
Of every royal virtue that you surely must possess;
Never be still dear, be the bravest, be you, be the best.
Your courage knows no foe, your truth to proclaim
It is your loyalty that I hope is your biggest fame.
Have mercy on this nave my dearest find,
For surely you must be of the forgiving kind.
Why should I then repine against Heaven's decree,
That somehow, someway - you fell in love with me.*
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 3:31 PM UTC
Do you grow weary
By day's end?
Do your bones ache
With an ancient pain?
Do your eyes wax dim
As your strength fades?
Do you grow weary
By day's end?
Does your heart repine
With dreams?
Does your soul languish
For peace?
Do you grow weary
By day's end?
Do you trudge to bed
With tears unshed?
Do you grow weary
By day's end?
Or like me,
do you awake
And start your day
Wearied and humbled
From all the days
That came before?
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
complainers, complaining
to repine and fret
my eyes roll and tone is hostile
jealously crawls up my throat and burns in my chest
at your mobility, and ingrate towards it
an aggressive pessimistic inert of a human being
three negative adjective’s and
never
any
positives.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 7:55 PM UTC