"Evening Landscape" by Ferdinand Knab‘Poems Unwritten’ by Daniel Leach The Society June 4, 2018 Beauty, Poetry 8 Comments Sometimes, when the light and the mists of the day _Settle holy and soft on the edge of the night, When the sights and the sounds of the world melt away, _And the vision that lives in the soul takes flight, __That feeling comes on I felt since I was young, ___Of poems unwritten and songs unsung. Like a shadow that flits across the moonbeams _Thrills the soul all the more for its dark mystery, Or the memory in daytime of last night’s dreams, _Like another world under the surface we see, __Like that thought that lives on the tip of the tongue, ___Are those poems unwritten and songs unsung. In the gaze of the lover who grasps for a word _To embody the feeling that’s shared in the eyes, Or forgotten strains of a song long unheard _Whose sad memory deep in the heart still lies, __Like all the new thoughts that ever have sprung, ___Are those poems unwritten and songs unsung. It’s there in the child as he sees the sublime _In the greatness and beauty of life unfurled, It lives in the instant, but outside of time, _And comforts the dying as they leave this world; __It sleeps in all souls though the lyre be unstrung, ___Those poems unwritten and songs unsung. Daniel Leach is a poet living in Houston, Texas. He has spent much of his life fighting for the ideals of classical culture and and poetry. His poems have been published on the 21st century classical poetry website www.thechainedmuse.com. More of his writings can be found here. NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who harasses or disrespects you. Simply send an email to email@example.com. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comment or comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 8 Responses Shiny Titus June 4, 2018 Beautiful poem!! Reply Joe Tessitore June 4, 2018 Beautiful work! Reply Carole San Miguel June 4, 2018 Great work, Dan. Melancholic AND Hopeful. “Like a prayer” of thanksgiving! Reply David Paul Behrens June 4, 2018 Excellent poem, very well done. It reminds me of this one, from 1978: Song Never Sung Spiritually deaf and mute and blind, Not smelling nor tasting fruits divine, Untapped senses, buried deep inside, Void of a knowledge, deep and wide. Open the door of a chasm, so deep. Behold the wonders of beyond, and weep. Weep for a joy, wonderful, indeed, Grown to blossom from a sacred seed. Smell the blossom and taste the fruit. Hear the sound of the farthest flute. Speak of a beauty, felt deep within. Let a touch from without come in. See a beauty, not shown to the eye. Feel a wind, not blown in the sky. Breathe in air, unknown by the lung. Hear a song, in a tone never sung. (Published by Lone Stars Poetry Magazine, 2017) Reply David Watt June 5, 2018 A lovely poem, Dan. The catching refrain works particularly well. Reply Jenni Wyn Hyatt June 6, 2018 Beautiful, haunting poem. Reply David Hollywood June 7, 2018 Lovely melancholic poetry. Thank you Reply Sally Cook June 7, 2018 Like a firefly in the grass, only a few would stop to notice, and put into words. Like it very much. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.