Don't Tell

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
These are just some thoughts that i think should be heard. please leave a comment, good or bad i don't mind i just want to know what other people think. thank you

Submitted: June 18, 2013

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Submitted: June 18, 2013



Cold blows the wind tonight, sweetheart,

Cold are the drops of rain;

The very first love that ever I had

In greenwood he was slain.

I’ll do as much for my sweetheart

As any young woman may;

I’ll sit and mourn at his graveside

A twelve-month and a day.


 Oh, what is brighter than the light?

What is darker than the night?

What is keener than an axe?

What is softer than melting wax?

Truth is brighter than the light,

Falsehood darker than the night.

Revenge is keener than an axe,

And love is softer than melting wax.


Oh, Mother, Mother, make my bed

Make it soft and narrow.

My William died for love of me,

And I shall die of sorrow.

They buried her in the old churchyard.

Sweet William’s grave was nigh hers

And from his grave grew a red, red rose

And from her grave a briar.

They grew and grew up the old church spire

Until they could grow no higher

And there they twined, in a true love knot,

The red, red rose and the briar.


O see ye not yon narrow road,

So thick beset with thorns and biers?

That is the path of righteousness,

Tho after it but few enquires.

And see not ye that broad, broad road

That lies across the lily leven?

That is the path of wickedness,

Tho some call it the road to Heaven.


It was dark, dark night, there was no starlight,

And they waded through red blood to the knee;

For all the blood that’s shed on earth

Runs through the springs of that country.


New is not always a bad thing.


She is coming, my own, my sweet;

Were it ever so airy a tread,

My heart would hear her and beat,

Were it earth in an earthy bed;

My dust would hear her and beat,

Had I lain for a century dead;

Would start and tremble under her feet,

And blossom in purple and red.


They lighted down to take a drink

Of the spring that ran so clear,

And there she spied his bonny heart’s blood,

A-running down the stream.

‘Hold up, hold up, Lord William,’ she said,

‘For I fear that you are slain;’

‘’Tis nought but the dye of my scarlet clothes,

That is sparkling down the stream’


Ave atque vale. Hail and farewell.


Through many waters borne, brother, I am come to thy sad grave, that I may give these last gifts to the dead. Forever and ever, brother, hail. Forever and ever, farewell.


Change is not loss. Not always.


Perhaps in some other life, beyond this one, when we have passed beyond the river, or turned upon the Wheel, or whatever kind words you want to use to describe leaving this world, I shall find my friend again. But I have lost you now-now, when I need you more than I ever did!


Have faith in yourself. You can be your own mirror.


Every meeting led to a parting, and so it would, as long as life was mortal. In every meeting there was some of the sorrow of parting, but in every parting there was some of the joy of meeting as well.


We are dust and shadows.


When I am in the darkness, I will think of it in the light, with you.


…and cannot watch over him, if that is not too bold a thing to say, as closely as I would. But if any fraud or treachery is practicing against him, I hope that simple love and truth will be strong in the end. I hope that real love and truth are stronger in the end than any evil or misfortune in the world…


Alas, my love, ye do me wrong

To cast me off discourteously.

And I have loved you so long,

Delighting in your company.

Greensleeves was all my joy;

Greensleeves was my delight;

Greensleeves was my heart of gold,

And who but Lady Greensleeves?


if you seek his monument, look about you


We cannot save them from themselves.


No one can rid the world of evil.


You are human, in all the ways that matter.


When two people are at one in their inmost hearts, they shatter even the strength of iron or bronze.


One does not question miracles, or complain that they are not constructed perfectly to one’s liking.


At last, the wheel comes full circle.

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