http://www.goa-world.com/goa/poems/poemsbyethel.htm
LIFE
This is the land of lost content,
I see it shinning plain,
The happy highways where I went,
And cannot come again.
This I know, I loved to play,
Through the meadow, among the hay,
Where the pools are bright and deep,
Where the hazel bank is steep,
And the shadows fall in deep.
The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As all night long my net I threw,
To the stars in the twinkling foam,
Ruffled the waves of dew.
Why the boys should drive away,
Little sweet maidens from the play,
Or love to banter and fight so well,
That�s the thing I never could tell.
So shut your eyes while nature sings,
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things,
As you rock in the misty sea.
There above noise and danger,
Sweet Peace sits crowned with smiles,
He is thy gracious friend,
And � O my soul awake!
But one who never changes,
God - thy life, thy cure.
The angel that presided o�er my birth
Said, �Little Creature formed of joy and mirth,
Go love without the help of anything on earth.�
Etelvina Carvalho
LOVE
Love is like a red rose,
That newly sprung in June,
Love is like the melody,
That sweetly played in tune.
Love alters not with brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Our past life is ours no more,
The flying hours are gone,
Whatever is to come is not,
The present moment�s all our lot,
Life is wholly thine.
I walked in a great golden dream,
I walked home with a gold dark boy,
I gazed entranced upon his face,
They had stolen my soul away!
I love thee with a passion put to use,
I love thee with a love I seem to loose,
With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, all my life!
And, if God choose,
I shall, but love thee better after death.
Etelvina Carvalho
[EMAIL PROTECTED]
SPELLBOUND
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark,
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me.
When the wind stirs soft,
Through the springing grass,
And the river flows,
Like a stream of glass,
When the first bird sings,
And the first bud opens,
And the faint perfume,
From its chalice steals.
Our youth, our joys, and all we have,
And pays us but with age and dust,
Who in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days.
The victories of the mind,
Are won for all mankind.
Our stories will be rewritten,
Each from the end,
And each will end the same.
Etelvina Carvalho
[EMAIL PROTECTED]
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