Related quotes
Idleness is not doing nothing. Idleness is being free to do anything.
quote by Floyd Dell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
M: II: I Cannot Pay your Honour
I have sought to triumph over nothing,
have tri-ed,
have failed to -umph.
Honour is paid
By accepting honour.
By accepting honour,
I would honour trying,
would honour lack of -umph.
I cannot pay your honour.
poem by Douglas Scotney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It has been said that idleness is the parent of mischief, which is very true; but mischief itself is merely an attempt to escape from the dreary vacuum of idleness.
quote by George Borrow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Idleness is a constant sin, and labor is a duty. Idleness is the devil's home for temptation and for unprofitable, distracting musings; while labor profit others and ourselves.
quote by Anne Baxter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Waterloo Day
THIS is the day of our glory; this is our day to weep.
Under her dusty laurels England stirs in her sleep;
Dreams of her days of honour, terrible days that are dead,
Days of the making of story, days when the sword was red,
When all her fate and her future hung on the naked blade,
When by the sword of her children her place in the world was made,
When Honour sounded the trumpet and Valour leapt to obey,
And Heroes bought us the Empire that statesmen would sell to-day.
England, wanton and weary, sunk in a slothful ease,
Has slain in her wars her thousands, but her tens of thousands in peace:
And the cowards grieve for her glory; their glory is in their shame;
They are glad of the moth in her banners, and the rust on her shining name.
Oh, if the gods would send us a balm for our sick, sad years,
Let them send us a sight of the scarlet, and the sound of the guns in our ears!
For valour and faith and honour--these grow where the red flower grows,
And the leaves for the Nation's healing must spring from the blood of her foes.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Idleness is the stupidity of the body, and stupidity is the idleness of the mind.
quote by Johann G. Seume
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Study invites study, idleness produces idleness.
What Shall I Do For the Land that Bred Me
What shall I do for the land that bred me,
Her homes and fields that folded and fed me?—
Be under her banner and live for her honour:
Under her banner I’ll live for her honour.
CHORUS. Under her banner live for her honour.
Not the pleasure, the pay, the plunder,
But country and flag, the flag I am under—
There is the shilling that finds me willing
To follow a banner and fight for honour.
CH. We follow her banner, we fight for her honour.
Call me England’s fame’s fond lover,
Her fame to keep, her fame to recover.
Spend me or end me what God shall send me,
But under her banner I live for her honour.
CH. Under her banner we march for her honour.
Where is the field I must play the man on?
O welcome there their steel or cannon.
Immortal beauty is death with duty,
If under her banner I fall for her honour.
CH. Under her banner we fall for her honour.
poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Succeed With Honour
the will to honour win
to succeed with honour
to sacrifice for honour
is worth in excess
of 24 carat gold
an attitude not to be sold
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sword Of Mine
The Sword that I carry
Though made not of iron or steel,
It is a mighty sword
That I proudly do so wield.
Though it wont break the skin
Or combat the weapons of a foe
But this is a mighty sword of mine
More precious than silver or gold.
This sword that I carry
I proudly display it in my hand,
For I know this sword of mine
Is greater, than any other mans.
It comforts me when I am tired
It will warm me when I am cold
It will lie down beside of me
To protect, and strengthen my soul.
The sword that I hold
Is tattered, and so very worn
It has been a friend along side of me,
In the sunshine and many storms.
It has shown me a path to follow
And has lit the road that I walk,
And those nights when I was alone and scared
Then to me, I could hear it talk.
The sword that I wield
Though may be different, in shape or size,
But it is the same sword
Which for years has cushioned the souls cry.
It has been here since the dawn of time
And will be here when the great walls fall,
And then when all men of war and hate reflect,
My sword, will be the mightiest sword of all.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Predestined
Dear, we might have known you were
To die young--and were we blind
To the light on face and hair?
Dear, so simple and so kind.
You were clean as your own sword
And as straight too and steel true.
In the Army of the Lord
What promotion waits for you!
I can see you where you stand,
Knightly soul, so clean, so brave.
With a new sword in your hand
Where the lilied banners wave.
Flower of simple chivalry,
Marked for honour and for grace;
It was very plain to see
The clear shining of your face.
You are gone now: it's turned cold:
Very good you were and dear.
Wear the looks you wore of old
When we meet,--some other year.
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Warning
Virtue is Virtue, writ in ink or blood.
And Duty, Honour, Valour, are the same
Whether they cheer the thundering steps of Fame
Up echoing hills of Alma, or, more blest,
Walk with her in that band where she is least
Thro' smiling plains and cities doing good.
Yet, oh to sing them in their happier day!
Yon glebe is not the hind whose manhood mends
Its rudeness, yet it gains but while he spends,
And mulcts him rude. Even that sinless Lord
Whose feet wan Mary washed, went not His way
Uncoloured by the Galilean field;
And Honour, Duty, Valour, seldom wield
With stainless hand the immedicable sword.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Hymn
O God of earth and altar,
Bow down and hear our cry,
Our earthly rulers falter,
Our people drift and die;
The walls of gold entomb us,
The swords of scorn divide,
Take not thy thunder from us,
But take away our pride.
From all that terror teaches,
From lies of tongue and pen,
From all the easy speeches
That comfort cruel men,
From sale and profanation
Of honour and the sword,
From sleep and from damnation,
Deliver us, good Lord.
Tie in a living tether
The prince and priest and thrall,
Bind all our lives together,
Smite us and save us all;
In ire and exultation
Aflame with faith, and free,
Lift up a living nation,
A single sword to thee.
poem by G.K. Chesterton (1906)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
A Hymn
O God of earth and altar,
Bow down and hear our cry,
Our earthly rulers falter,
Our people drift and die;
The walls of gold entomb us,
The swords of scorn divide,
Take not thy thunder from us,
But take away our pride.
From all that terror teaches,
From lies of tongue and pen,
From all the easy speeches
That comfort cruel men,
From sale and profanation
Of honour and the sword,
From sleep and from damnation,
Deliver us, good Lord.
Tie in a living tether
The prince and priest and thrall,
Bind all our lives together,
Smite us and save us all;
In ire and exultation
Aflame with faith, and free,
Lift up a living nation,
A single sword to thee.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Honour Life
honour life
honour people loved
while they are here
rather than mourn
when they are gone
when it is too late
show a little sincere appreciation
for family friends life loved
saving you from empty alienation
appreciate gift love time
subtle small gifts divine
memories shine through time
to love appreciate fully now
seems a far better rational response
than to regret at fatal final hour
honour life
honour life
while it is here
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
He Entered Into Battle With A Blunt Edged Sword
He entered into battle with a blunt edged sword,
But he did not know quite why.
His sword selection was done without motive,
To battle and kill his fellow man.
So subconsciously he picked out this sword.
This sword not of this world, not out to cut to bleed.
But this innocent man didn't wish to realize,
What prize he would pay.
In midst of this battle, recieving the swiftest,
Blows from his enemy,
This soldier just kept getting hurt.
Five, six and seven more blows made him hit back,
This soldier proudly used his blunt sword,
Till his nemesis bearing a razor sharp one,
Came along and challenged the already fallen one,
Who gave a swift plunge into his enemy's heart.
But the enemy did not stagger or fall.
Neither did the soldier with the blunt sword.
This soldier's enemy left the battleground,
When he saw that the one with the blunt sword,
Knew all along the possibility of his death.
Still he fought, so he himself could die,
Which the other soldier was saddened by that man's stance.
He told that man, 'if we all fought battles with a blunt
sword,
Then we would all truly win,
For the battleground would know no mortality.
He further told him, 'because of you, your side
Truly wins. But so does our.
We love you,
Blunt edged sword soldier man.'
poem by Vera Sidhwa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Lucasta, Going To The Wars
Tell me not (Sweet) I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
To war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee (Dear) so much,
Lov'd I not Honour more.
poem by Richard Lovelace
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Lucasta. Going To the Warres.
I.
Tell me not, (sweet,) I am unkinde,
That from the nunnerie
Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde
To warre and armes I flie.
II.
True: a new Mistresse now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith imbrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.
III.
Yet this inconstancy is such,
As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Lov'd I not Honour more.
poem by Richard Lovelace
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Energy
Matter
It wants to play
Be a mother of singing
Waiting for the return of words
Into her womb
Sparkles between a living and dead self
And an anti self
Honour the innocence
Of its unawareness
Gravity
It wants to play
Increase decrease inside out
Strongholds
And an anti self
Honour the innocence
Of its unawareness
Time
It wants to play
Be a father of changes
It waits for nothing
But its own end
And its anti self
Honour the innocence
Of its unawareness
Space
It wants to play
Be a brother to spacious
Waiting in spasm of the dead ends
For a playful vast
And its anti self
Honour the innocence
Of its unawareness
Energy
It wants to play
Over the dimensions
Be a soul's sister
Across the humans
Free
To kill its anti self
Honour the innocence
Of its awareness
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What she told me
Arrived at last at the monastery
she listened as he asked
why are your aspirations so very puny?
why do you not aspire
to be liberated for the sake
of all mankind?
and, she said, she could
have cut the silence with a sword;
the two-edged sword, of unreason
and of reason; the same light
flashing from the hero’s sword
or burning steady, gentle, from the candle
there in the temple of the heart.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!