The tranquil spell poet is an individual who possesses a unique ability to capture and convey the essence of tranquility through the power of poetry. This gifted poet has the remarkable talent to create verses that have the ability to transport readers to a state of calm and inner peace. Through their use of vivid imagery and carefully chosen words, they are able to paint a picture of serenity and stillness that resonates deeply with their audience. The tranquil spell poet has the ability to calm the mind and soothe the soul with their enchanting verses. Their words have the power to transport readers to a world of tranquility, where they can momentarily escape the chaos and stresses of everyday life. As readers delve into their poems, they are enveloped in a sense of peace and stillness, as if they were taken on a meditative journey.
by J Nandhini | Updated 2023-03-01T06:25:33+00:00 Mar 01, 2023
Tranquil pastoral poem that sounds like idle Crossword Clue Daily Themed that we have found 1 exact correct answer for Tranquil pastoral poem that sounds like idle Crossword Clue Daily Themed. and with muffled oar Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay The Somerset, British man-of-war A phantom ship, with each mast and spar Across the moon, like a prison-bar, And a huge black hulk, that was magnified By its own reflection in the tide.
As readers delve into their poems, they are enveloped in a sense of peace and stillness, as if they were taken on a meditative journey. The tranquil spell poet's work is a testament to the power of language and the ability it has to evoke emotions and create a sense of inner harmony. Through their poetry, they remind us of the importance of finding moments of tranquility in our busy lives and the healing power that can be found in slowing down and reconnecting with ourselves.
Paul Revere’s Ride
Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five:
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.
He said to his friend, “If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch
Of the North-Church-tower, as a signal-light,—
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country-folk to be up and to arm.”
Then he said “Good night!” and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war:
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon, like a prison-bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.
Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street
Wanders and watches with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers
Marching down to their boats on the shore.
Then he climbed to the tower of the church,
Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry-chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,—
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town,
And the moonlight flowing over all.
Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
In their night-encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, “All is well!”
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,—
A line of black, that bends and floats
On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.
Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride,
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse’s side,
Now gazed on the landscape far and near,
Then impetuous stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry-tower of the old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height,
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns!
A hurry of hoofs in a village-street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed that flies fearless and fleet:
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders, that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.
It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer’s dog,
And felt the damp of the river-fog,
That rises when the sun goes down.
It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.
It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadows brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket-ball.
You know the rest. In the books you have read,
How the British Regulars fired and fled,—
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard-wall,
Chasing the red-coats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.
So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,—
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.
This poem is in the public domain.
It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadows brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket-ball.
In a world filled with noise and distractions, the tranquil spell poet's words serve as a gentle reminder to pause, breathe, and embrace the serenity that can be found within..
Reviews for "Revealing the Essence of Tranquility through Tranquil Spell Poetry"
1. Sarah - 2 stars - I found "Tranquil spell poet" to be quite dull and uninspiring. The poems lacked depth and didn't resonate with me on any emotional level. I was hoping for more thought-provoking and captivating pieces, but unfortunately, it fell short of my expectations. I couldn't connect with the themes or the language used, making it a forgettable read for me.
2. Mark - 1 star - I must admit, I struggled to understand the meaning behind the poems in "Tranquil spell poet". The abstract nature of the writing made it difficult to grasp any coherent message or storyline. It felt like a jumble of disjointed thoughts that failed to engage me as a reader. Additionally, the rhyme schemes and rhythm were inconsistent, further adding to my confusion. Overall, I found the collection to be confusing and unenjoyable.
3. Emily - 2 stars - "Tranquil spell poet" felt pretentious and overly-sophisticated to me. The author seemed more focused on showcasing their vocabulary and linguistic prowess rather than creating compelling poetry. The use of obscure words and complex metaphors made it hard to connect with the poems and comprehend their intended meaning. I prefer poetry that is accessible and relatable, which this collection lacked entirely. It may appeal to those looking for an intellectual exercise in deciphering hidden meanings, but for me, it fell flat.
4. Michael - 2 stars - I found "Tranquil spell poet" to be overly verbose and excessively descriptive. The poems seemed to drag on with unnecessary details and lengthy descriptions, losing my attention in the process. I appreciate concise writing that allows for interpretation and emotional impact, but this collection seemed to be trying too hard to impress with excessive words. It lacked the elegance and simplicity that I look for in poetry, ultimately leaving me unimpressed.