This list of dream poems is composed of the works of modern international poet members of PoetrySoup. There are dreams that we have while asleep and dreams that we have while we are awake. So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew, The African and Native American, the Sioux, The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek, The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh, The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher, The privileged, the homeless, the teacher. So take my lyre and play the song your heart bids true. A place out of reach of any man's hands, Safely secluded in a far away land Beyond the grasp of those who may plunder The wealth of its power and its life changing wonder.
But the dreamers of the day are dangerous people, For they dream their dreams with open eyes, And make them come true. There twists the bitter-sweet, the white wisteria Fastens its fingers in the strangling wall,And the wide crannies quicken with bright weeds;There dumbly like a worm all day the still white orchid feeds;But never an echo of your daughters' laughterIs there, nor any sign of you at allSwells fungous from the rotten bough, grey mother of Pieria! The effect of this poem is quite different when read as intended for a lost child. Knopf, 1926 Prose Letters from Langston University of California Press, 2016 Selected Letters of Langston Hughes Alfred A. Those of us that dare to put our dreams down on paper are showing the courage and faith that they will come true. For more information about my site, my interests, thoughts or suggestions please feel free to contact dreamer dreamersreality. The poem has been set to music, or alluded to, many times: Sir set the ode to music in 1912 in his work entitled , Op 69.
I paused at every grievous door,And harked a moment, holding up my hand,—and for a spaceA hush was on them, while they watched my face;And then they fell a-whispering as before;So that I smiled at them and left them, seeing she was not there. Did you want to see me broken? Oblivion is the name of this abode: and she is there. He rose, and with a cold and gentle graspHe took her hand; a moment o'er his faceA tablet of unutterable thoughtsWas traced, and then it faded, as it came;He dropped the hand he held, and with slow stepsRetired, but not as bidding her adieu,For they did part with mutual smiles; he passedFrom out the massy gate of that old Hall,And mounting on his steed he went his way;And ne'er repassed that hoary threshold more. There is a true yearning to respond to The singing river and the wise rock. I wander through a world of lies and tricksters as they try to make me lose focus.
I am the one that reaches for the highest of heights. Here, root yourselves beside me. Knopf, 1947 Freedom's Plow Musette Publishers, 1943 Shakespeare in Harlem Alfred A. Come to me, here beside the river. I go alone to my secret place, never leaving a trace For someone to follow and discover my space Where I keep my secrets, my fears, and my regrets Away from the world and all of its threats. I use the light's rays as motivational beams, urging me forward.
Women, children, men, Take it into the palms of your hands. The river sings and sings on. He finished his college education at Lincoln University in Pennsylvania three years later. Each of you, descendant of some passed on Traveller, has been paid for. For 't was a dream of times to come-- Of the glorious noon of day-- Of the summer that follows the careless spring When the child is done with play. Poems about Daring to Dream There are two kinds of dreams. You are invited to let the writers know how you feel about their writings by leaving comments on their work.
All works contained in this site are submitted to Dreamer for placement any infringements of copyrights are by mistake and if I am contacted about this will gladly correct the problem immediately. Why are you beset with gloom? Fearing to pass unvisited some placeAnd later learn, too late, how all the while,With her still face,She had been standing there and seen me pass, without a smile,I sought her even to the sagging board whereatThe stout immortals sat;But such a laughter shook the mighty hallNo one could hear me say:Had she been seen upon the Hill that day? I am that one, the one who dreams. No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path 65 Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that ofttimes hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. For the struggles I had faced will stand as validation to how much my dreams are worth. Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Lift up your eyes upon The day breaking for you. The Boy was sprung to manhood: in the wildsOf fiery climes he made himself a home,And his Soul drank their sunbeams; he was girtWith strange and dusky aspects; he was notHimself like what he had been; on the seaAnd on the shore he was a wanderer;There was a mass of many imagesCrowded like waves upon me, but he wasA part of all; and in the last he layReposing from the noontide sultriness,Couched among fallen columns, in the shadeOf ruined walls that had survived the namesOf those who reared them; by his sleeping sideStood camels grazing, and some goodly steedsWere fastened near a fountain; and a man,Glad in a flowing garb, did watch the while,While many of his tribe slumbered around:And they were canopied by the blue sky,So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful,That God alone was to be seen in heaven. How can we separate reality from illusion? How ridiculous to believe that sadness and sickness Are anything other than bad dreams. But as she relishes in the amazement, that her dreams are no longer a fantasy. ¡ªtell me¡ªtell me, I implore! This may have been a deliberate strategy to convert pagans to Christianity. You, who gave me my first name, You Pawnee, Apache and Seneca, You Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, Then forced on bloody feet, Left me to the employment of other seekers-- Desperate for gain, starving for gold. Excitement builds upon crescendo's sound, Brought forth in tones to make my light heart sing For all the beauty that, with you, I've found.
What if you were dreaming about someone, only to be woken up by the very person you had been dreaming about? Wait till you see Muhammad Ali. » » » Dream Best Famous Dream Poems Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Dream poems. Or crust and sugar over--like a syrupy sweet? The Lady of his love;—Oh! Plant yourself beside me, here beside the river. What could her grief be? This list of works about dream is an excellent resource for examples on how to write dream poems. Click on links below for further Dream Poems Dreamer Poem Take up a lyre, my son, and play a song for me. It's mine and mine alone! She treads on, and watches the water spread at her feet. Copyright © 2017-1999 by Rebecca R.
I tell you you have done her body an ill,You chatterers, you noisy crew! Your armed struggles for profit Have left collars of waste upon My shore, currents of debris upon my breast. Today, the first and last of every tree Speaks to humankind. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams. Written by Aye, but she? Bowed head and lowered eyes? I dreamed what you dreamed, wanted what you wanted--and then I realized that truly I just wanted you. But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully, Come, you may stand upon my Back and face your distant destiny, But seek no haven in my shadow. There was an ancient mansion, and beforeIts walls there was a steed caparisoned:Within an antique Oratory stoodThe Boy of whom I spake;—he was alone,And pale, and pacing to and fro: anonHe sate him down, and seized a pen, and tracedWords which I could not guess of; then he leanedHis bowed head on his hands and shook, as 'twereWith a convulsion—then rose again,And with his teeth and quivering hands did tearWhat he had written, but he shed no tears.
Yet she remains completely dry, never becoming the least bit damp. Poems about dreams and sleep and dream Poems I found myself in a garden of dreams Lost with no self-esteem or love Shedding tears for lost passion-heartbroken Despair without hope from above. Weakened by my soulful cries. I am a writer and very passionate about what I do, but a girls gotta eat! Written by If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too: If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same:. If I were a god, I could take the heavenly sky and make a blanket out of it for you.