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Upon the silent sea-swept land
 The dreams of night fall soft and gray,
          The waves fade on the jeweled sand
               Like some lost hope of yesterday.

The dreams of night fall soft and gray
 Upon the summer-colored seas,
  Like some lost hope of yesterday,
               The sea-mew’s song is on the breeze.

Upon the summer-colored seas
 Sails gleam and glimmer ghostly white,
      The sea-mew’s song is on the breeze
               Lost in the monotone of night.

Sails gleam and glimmer ghostly white,
     They come and slowly drift away,
          Lost in the monotone of night,
               Like visions of a summer-day.

They shift and slowly drift away
     Like lovers’ lays that wax and wane,
          The visions of a summer-day
               Whose dreams we ne’er will dream again.

Like lovers’ lays wax and wane
     The star dawn shifts from sail to sail,
          Like dreams we ne’er will dream again;
               The sea-mews follow on their trail.

The star dawn shifts from sail to sail,
     As they drift to the dim unknown,
          The sea-mews follow on their trail
               In quest of some dreamland zone.

In quest of some far dreamland zone,
     Of some far silent sea-swept land,
          They are lost in the dim unknown,
               Where waves fade on jeweled sand
                    And dreams of night fall soft and gray,
                         Like some lost hope of yesterday.

Carl Sadakichi Hartmann ( 1867 - 1944 ) Was a poet, playwright, and art critic. He was born on the artificial island of Dejima, Nagasaki, to a Japanese mother Osada Hartmann (who died soon after childbirth) and German businessman Carl Herman Oskar Hartmann and raised in Germany. He came to the U.S. in1882 and became an American citizen in1894. (His application for naturalization shows little regard for the correct spelling of his Japanese or German names. containing two misspellings). Hartmann was an important early participant in Modernism and he was a friend of such diverse figures as  Walt Whitman, Stéphane Mallarmé and Ezra Pound. Read more

This poem is in the public domain. 

Low lay the land,
close to the trees.
Bright is the Sun,
cool is the breeze.
Rich is the scent
of the broad sea.
Long have I wandered
searching for thee.

Word bundles,
large and small.
tied by strings
of word constraint,
until a word picture,
is ready to paint.
Where are the words,
we use every day?
Have they been freed
and are now at play?
I'll use word bundles,
to craft a new song,
before my mind defaults,
into garbage. I say,
have a good morning,
have a good day.

I travel across
a bridge so high,
a stair way to heaven,
but not for I.

Like two ships passing,
in the night.
A chance encounter,
we shared our plight.
Long will I remember
the evening delights.
So many years
gone by, when we
were young with a
unique innocence.

The night was still,
darkest of heart,
forlorn my soul,
until we part.

Far away,
across the sea,
my home awaits
there for me.

Long the journey,
far from home.
Hurry back,
no more to roam.

Storms arise,
no warnings heard,
via airwaves,
voice or word.

Stay thee here,
you pretty lass,
for you are
my homeward pass.

And a man said, Speak to us of Self-Knowledge.
And he answered, saying:
Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights.
But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart’s knowledge.
You would know in words that which you have always known in thought.
You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams.

And it is well you should.
The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea;
And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes.
But let there be no scales ot weigh your unknown treasure;
And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.
For self is a sea boundless and measureless.

Say not, “I have found the truth,” but rather, “I have found a truth.”
Say not, "I have found the path of the soul.” Say rather, “I have met the soul walking upon my path.”
For the soul walks upon all paths.
The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed.
The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.

(This poem is in the public domain)

Khalil Gibran (1883 - 1931) Lebanese-American poet and writer. He was the author of The Prophet, The Broken Wings , Beloved, The Three Ants and many others (His name is sometimes spelled Kahlil)

The night was still,
darkest of heart,
forlorn my soul,
until we must part.

Green the grass,
blue the sea,
as I await
the return of thee.

Gone away,
so far from here,
I long for you
my sweetest dear.

May the days
pass swiftly bye,
until your return,
I'll sit and sigh.

Grey was the streaks
in my new friend's hair.
Brown was her eyes
drowsy but aware.

Lush were her lips,
not mine to share.
Radiant was her smile,
beaming rays, everwhere.

Sweet the night.
Sweet the dreams.
Sweet the thought.
Sweet, it seems
of a blossomed love,
envisioned within
my Soul, my trove,
I'll now begin,
to love you now,
though I will not win,
for fate has cast
its net on me,
I am blind
and cannot see.