Poetry Archives - Mihaela Limberea

The Dreamer

10th March 2026 Mihaela Limberea

Poetry

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This is post 92 of 92 in the series “Poetry Tuesday”

This is a series of poems published every Tuesday.

The wave yearns at the cliff foot: its pale arms
Reach upward and relapse, like down-dropped hands;
The baffled tides slip backward evermore,
And a long sighing murmurs round the sands . . .

My heart is as the wave that lifts and falls:
    Tall is the cliff—oh! tall as that dim star
That crowns its summit hidden in a cloud—
    Tall as the dark and holy heavens are.

The sad strange wreckage of full many ships
    Burdens the bitter waters’ ebb and flow:
Gold diadems, like slowly falling flames,
    Lighten the restless emerald gulfs below;

And withered blossoms float, and silken webs,
    And pallid faces framed in wide-spread hair,
And bubble-globes that seethe with peacock hues,
    And jewelled hands, half-open, cold and fair.

Sea creatures move beneath: their swift sleek touch
    Begets sweet madness and unworthy fire—
Scaled women—triton-things, whose dark seal eyes
    Are hot and bloodshot with a man’s desire.

Their strange arms clasp: the sea-pulse in their veins
    Beats like the surf of the immortal sea—
Strong, glad and soulless: elemental joys
    Bathe with green flame the sinking soul of me.

Downward and down—to passionate purple looms,
    Athrill with thought-free, blurred, insatiate life,
Where the slow-throbbing sea-flow sways like weed
    Dim figures blended in an amorous strife—

I am enclasped, I sink; but the wave lifts,
    With all its freight of treasure and of death,
In sullen foamless yearning towards the height
    Where the star burns above the vapour-wreath;

And a deep sob goes up, and all the caves
    Are filled with mourning and a sorrow-sound.
The green fire fades: I rise: I see the star—
    Gone are the triton arms that clipped me round.

Hope beats like some lost bird against the cliff—
    The granite cliff above the burdened wave,
Whose fleeting riches are more desolate
    Than gems dust-mingled in a nameless grave . . .

When all the wordless thirsts of Time are slaked,
    And all Earth’s yearning hungers sweetly fed,
And the Sea’s grief is stilled, and the Wind’s cry,
    And Day and Night clasp on one glowing bed—

Oh! in that hour shall clay and flame be blent—
    Love find its perfect lover, breast on breast—
When dream and dreamer at the last are one,
    And joy is folded in the arms of jest.

Dulcie Deamer (1890 – 1972) was a New Zealand-born Australian novelist, poet, journalist, and actress.

To read more poems, click here.

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Sun Song

17th February 2026 Mihaela Limberea

Poetry

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Langston Hughes

This is post 91 of 92 in the series “Poetry Tuesday”

This is a series of poems published every Tuesday.

Sun and softness,
Sun and the beaten hardness of the earth,
Sun and the song of all the sun-stars
Gathered together,—
Dark ones of Africa,
I bring you my songs
To sing on the Georgia roads.

Langston Hughes (1901–1967) was an American poet, social activist, novelist, playwright, best known as a leader of the Harlem Renaissance.

To read more poems, click here.

From “Fungi of Yuggoth” [XIV. Star-winds]

10th February 2026 Mihaela Limberea

Poetry

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H.P. Lovecraft

This is post 90 of 92 in the series “Poetry Tuesday”

This is a series of poems published every Tuesday.

It is a certain hour of twilight glooms,
Mostly in autumn, when the star-wind pours
Down hilltop streets, deserted out-of-doors,
But showing early lamplight from snug rooms.
The dead leaves rush in strange, fantastic twists,
And chimney smoke whirls round with alien grace,
Heeding geometries of outer space,
While Fomalhaut peers in through southward mists.

This is the hour when moonstruck poets know
What fungi sprout in Yuggoth, and what scents
And tints of flowers fill Nithon’s continents,
Such as in no poor earthly garden blow.
Yet for each dream these winds to me convey,
A dozen more of ours they sweep away.

Listen to the poem on Soundcloud.

H. P. Lovecraft (1890 – 1937) was an American writer of weird, horror, fantasy, and science fiction. He is best known for creating the Cthulhu Mythos, but his legacy is also evident in terms like “Lovecraftian horror” and an enduring fandom.

To read more poems, click here.

II [Doom is dark and deeper than any sea-dingle.]

27th January 2026 Mihaela Limberea

Poetry

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W. H. Auden

This is post 89 of 92 in the series “Poetry Tuesday”

This is a series of poems published every Tuesday.

Doom is dark and deeper than any sea-dingle.
Upon what man it fall
In spring, day-wishing flowers appearing,
Avalanche sliding, white snow from rock-face,
That he should leave his house,
No cloud-soft hand can hold him, restraint by women;
But ever that man goes
Through place-keepers, through forest trees,
A stranger to strangers over undried sea,
Houses for fishes, suffocating water,
Or lonely on fell as chat,
By pot-holed becks
A bird stone-haunting, an unquiet bird.

There head falls forward, fatigued at evening,
And dreams of home,
Waving from window, spread of welcome,
Kissing of wife under single sheet;
But waking sees
Bird-flocks nameless to him, through doorway voices
Of new men making another love.

Save him from hostile capture,
From sudden tiger’s leap at corner;
Protect his house,
His anxious house where days are counted
From thunderbolt protect,
From gradual ruin spreading like a stain;
Converting number from vague to certain,
Bring joy, bring day of his returning,
Lucky with day approaching, with leaning dawn.

W. H. Auden (1907 –1973), English poet, playwright, critic, and librettist, winner of the Pulitzer Prize in 1948 for The Age of Anxiety.

To read more poems, click here.

Night

13th January 2026 Mihaela Limberea

Poetry

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Anne Brontë

This is post 88 of 92 in the series “Poetry Tuesday”

This is a series of poems published every Tuesday.

I love the silent hour of night,
For blissful dreams may then arise,
Revealing to my charmèd sight
What may not bless my waking eyes.

And then a voice may meet my ear,
  That death has silenced long ago;
And hope and rapture may appear
  Instead of solitude and woe.

Cold in the grave for years has lain
  The form it was my bliss to see;
And only dreams can bring again
  The darling of my heart to me.

Anne Brontë (1820 – 1849) was an English novelist and poet, sister of Charlotte and Emily Brontë and author of Agnes Grey (1847) and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (1848).

To read more poems, click here.

Fate

9th December 2025 Mihaela Limberea

Poetry

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Ralph Waldo Emerson

This is post 87 of 92 in the series “Poetry Tuesday”

This is a series of poems published every Tuesday.

Photo by kilarov zaneit on Unsplash edited by me

That you are fair or wise is vain,
Or strong, or rich, or generous;
You must have also the untaught strain
That sheds beauty on the rose.
There is a melody born of melody,
Which melts the world into a sea.
Toil could never compass it,
Art its height could never hit,
It came never out of wit,
But a music music-born
Well may Jove and Juno scorn.
Thy beauty, if it lack the fire
Which drives me mad with sweet desire,
What boots it? what the soldier’s mail
Unless he conquer and prevail?
What all the goods thy pride which lift,
If thou pine for another’s gift?
Alas! that one is born in blight,
Victim of perpetual slight;—
When thou lookest in his face,
Thy heart saith, Brother! go thy ways.
None shall ask thee what thou doest,
Or care a rush for what thou knowest.
Or listen when thou repliest,
Or remember where thou liest,
Or how thy supper is sodden,—
And another is born
To make the sun forgotten.
Surely he carries a talisman
Under his tongue;
Broad are his shoulders, and strong,
And his eye is scornful,
Threatening, and young.
I hold it of little matter,—
Whether your jewel be of pure water,
A rose diamond or a white,—
But whether it dazzle me with light.
I care not how you are drest,
In the coarsest, or in the best,
Nor whether your name is base or brave,
Nor for the fashion of your behavior,—
But whether you charm me,
Bid my bread feed, and my fire warm me,
And dress up nature in your favor.
One thing is forever good,
That one thing is success,—
Dear to the Eumenides,
And to all the heavenly brood.
Who bides at home, nor looks abroad,
Carries the eagles, and masters the sword.

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803 – 1882) was an American essayist, lecturer, philosopher, minister, abolitionist, and poet who led the New England Transcendentalist movement of the mid-19th century.

To read more poems, click here.

Sonnet LIX: Love’s Last Gift

25th November 2025 Mihaela Limberea

Poetry

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Dante Gabriel Rossetti

This is post 86 of 92 in the series “Poetry Tuesday”

This is a series of poems published every Tuesday.

Love to his singer held a glistening leaf,
And said: “The rose-tree and the apple-tree
Have fruits to vaunt or flowers to lure the bee;
And golden shafts are in the feathered sheaf
Of the great harvest-marshal, the year’s chief,
Victorious summer; aye, and ’neath warm sea
Strange secret grasses lurk inviolably
Between the filtering channels of sunk reef.

All are my blooms; and all sweet blooms of love
To thee I gave while Spring and Summer sang;
But Autumn stops to listen, with some pang
From those worse things the wind is moaning of.
Only this laurel dreads no winter days:
Take my last gift; thy heart hath sung my praise.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828 – 1882) was an English poet, illustrator, painter, and translator, who helped found the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.

To read more poems, click here.

Freedom and Truth

11th November 2025 Mihaela Limberea

Poetry

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Margaret Fuller

This is post 85 of 92 in the series “Poetry Tuesday”

This is a series of poems published every Tuesday.

Black and white photo of a group of people standing in front of the clock window at the Orsay Museum in Paris, France

The shrine is vowed to freedom, but, my friend,
Freedom is but a means to gain an end.
Freedom should build the temple, but the shrine
Be consecrate to thought still more divine.
The human bliss which angel hopes foresaw
Is liberty to comprehend the law.
Give, then, thy book a larger scope and frame,
Comprising means and end in Truth’s great name.

Margaret Fuller (1810 – 1850), sometimes referred to as Margaret Fuller Ossoli, was an American journalist, editor, critic, translator, and women’s rights advocate associated with the American transcendentalism movement. She was the first American female war correspondent and full-time book reviewer in journalism. Her book Woman in the Nineteenth Century is considered the first major feminist work in the United States.

To read more poems, click here.

Art

21st October 2025 Mihaela Limberea

Poetry

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Herman Melville

This is post 84 of 92 in the series “Poetry Tuesday”

This is a series of poems published every Tuesday.

In placid hours well-pleased we dream
Of many a brave unbodied scheme.
But form to lend, pulsed life create,
What unlike things must meet and mate:
A flame to melt—a wind to freeze;
Sad patience—joyous energies;
Humility—yet pride and scorn;
Instinct and study; love and hate;
Audacity—reverence. These must mate,
And fuse with Jacob’s mystic heart,
To wrestle with the angel—Art.

Herman Melville ( 1819 – 1891) was an American novelist, short story writer, and poet of the American Renaissance period.

To read more poems, click here.

Sir Walter Raleigh to His Son

7th October 2025 Mihaela Limberea

Poetry

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Walter Raleigh

This is post 83 of 92 in the series “Poetry Tuesday”

This is a series of poems published every Tuesday.

Three things there be that prosper up apace
And flourish, whilst they grow asunder far,
But on a day, they meet all in one place,
And when they meet, they one another mar;
And they be these: the wood, the weed, the wag.
The wood is that which makes the gallow tree;
The weed is that which strings the hangman’s bag;
The wag, my pretty knave, betokeneth thee.
Mark well, dear boy, whilst these assemble not,
Green springs the tree, hemp grows, the wag is wild,
But when they meet, it makes the timber rot,
It frets the halter, and it chokes the child.
Then bless thee, and beware, and let us pray
We part not with thee at this meeting day.

Sir Walter Raleigh (1553 – 1618) was an English statesman, soldier, writer, and explorer. One of the most notable figures of the Elizabethan era, he played a leading part in English colonisation of North America, suppressed rebellion in Ireland, helped defend England against the Spanish Armada, and held political positions under Elizabeth I. Accused of treason by Elizabeth’s successor, James I, he was imprisoned in the Tower of London and eventually put to death.

Mark McGuinness reads and discusses the poem in his podcast, A Mouthful of Air, which features classic and contemporary poetry. Podcast transcription is available.

To read more poems, click here.

Mihaela Limberea

Category: Poetry

The Dreamer

Sun Song

From “Fungi of Yuggoth” [XIV. Star-winds]

II [Doom is dark and deeper than any sea-dingle.]

Night

Fate

Sonnet LIX: Love’s Last Gift

Freedom and Truth

Art

Sir Walter Raleigh to His Son

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