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Contemplative, Robert Smithdas, in English Clear filters

ContemplativeRobert Smithdas

Hero

In dreams I climb Mount Everest, And plant a banner on its crest; Or plunge through thrashing, storm-swept waves To seek drowned gold in coral caves; Or, borne on flashing wings, I race Through the bright hinterlands of space. I've led an army through the world Until my growing empire curled Around the globe, from pole to pole. I've read the secrets of Man's soul; And, being inordinately wise, I've read the secrets of the skies. No hero praised in myth or song Could ever be so brave and strong And wise. But when the morning sun Severs the thread of dreams I've spun,
ContemplativeRobert Smithdas

The Rose of Life

I love old-fashioned roses with sharp thorns That let you know that beauty has its pain: Red roses with the color of the heart, And petals soft and smooth as Chinese silk, With small brown daggers hiding underneath. Love blossoms like a flower as it grows; But there are moments when the thorns of doubt Pierce with the sting of anguish and despair. And then I feel that from the Vine of Life I've plucked the painful beauty of a rose.
ContemplativeRobert Smithdas

Water

Water, water, I touch you with my fingers, And you curl round them in a cool caress, Moulding yourself to every changing gesture With gentleness. Water, water, I have found you laughing In mountain valleys, or where streams run swift; And I have found you sighing on long beaches Where white sands drift. Water of life, that falls in dew and shower, That sings with many voices in stream and sea, You hold the miracle of leaf and flower, And even me.
ContemplativeRobert Smithdas

Forecast

Yet once again, my apple-trees are drest Resplendently with blossoms silver-white: How suddenly they burgeoned overnight With beauty, when I thought they were at rest. One day ago, their naked fingers prest Against a hostile sky of winter light, As if to touch the waning sun in flight, Or gather a few embers from the West. But this new Spring that now enchants each tree Is strangely cold and gleaming; for these flowers Were sculped by wind from fallen snow and frost. And each one holds a coming prophecy Of brighter suns and laughing April showers, And the remembered glory of Springs lost.

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