He who makes too much haste gains his end later.
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Sonnet VI
For why the gains doth seldom quit the charge:
And so say I by proof too dearly bought,
My haste made waste; my brave and brainsick barge
Did float too fast to catch a thing of naught.
With leisure, measure, mean, and many moe
I mought have kept a chair of quiet state.
But hasty heads cannot be settled so,
Till crooked Fortune gave a crabbed mate.
As busy brains must beat on tickle toys,
As rash invention breeds a raw devise,
So sudden falls do hinder hasty joys;
And as swift baits do fleetest fish entice,
So haste makes waste, and therefore now I say,
No haste but good, where wisdom makes the way.
poem by George Gascoigne
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Sonnet VII
No haste but good, where wisdom makes the way,
For proof whereof behold the simple snail
(Who sees the soldier's carcass cast away,
With hot assault the Castle to assail)
By line and leisure climbs the wall,
And wins the turret's top more cunningly
Than doughty Dick, who lost his life and all
With hoisting up his head so hastily.
The swiftest bitch brings forth the blindest whelps;
The hottest Fevers coldest cramps ensue;
The nakedest need hath ever latest helps.
With Nevil then I find this proverb true,
That Haste makes waste, and therefore still I say,
No haste but good, where wisdom makes the way.
poem by George Gascoigne
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To Lucasta, the Rose
I.
Sweet serene skye-like flower,
Haste to adorn her bower;
From thy long clowdy bed
Shoot forth thy damaske head.
II.
New-startled blush of Flora!
The griefe of pale Aurora,
Who will contest no more,
Haste, haste, to strowe her floore.
III.
Vermilion ball, that's given
From lip to lip in Heaven;
Loves couches cover-led,
Haste, haste, to make her bed.
IV.
Dear offspring of pleas'd Venus,
And jollie plumpe Silenus;
Haste, haste, to decke the haire,
Of th' only sweetly faire.
V.
See! rosie is her bower,
Her floore is all this flower;
Her bed a rosie nest
By a bed of roses prest.
VI.
But early as she dresses,
Why fly you her bright tresses?
Ah! I have found, I feare;
Because her cheekes are neere.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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To Lucasta. The Rose.
I.
Sweet serene skye-like flower,
Haste to adorn her bower;
From thy long clowdy bed
Shoot forth thy damaske head.
II.
New-startled blush of FLORA!
The griefe of pale AURORA,
Who will contest no more,
Haste, haste, to strowe her floore.
III.
Vermilion ball, that's given
From lip to lip in Heaven;
Loves couches cover-led,
Haste, haste, to make her bed.
IV.
Dear offspring of pleas'd VENUS,
And jollie plumpe SILENUS;
Haste, haste, to decke the haire,
Of th' only sweetly faire.
V.
See! rosie is her bower,
Her floore is all this flower;
Her bed a rosie nest
By a bed of roses prest.
VI.
But early as she dresses,
Why fly you her bright tresses?
Ah! I have found, I feare;
Because her cheekes are neere.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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The Rose
I.
Sweet serene skye-like Flower,
Haste to adorn her Bower :
From thy long clowdy bed,
Shoot forth thy damaske head.
II.
New-startled blush of Flora !
The griefe of pale Aurora,
Who will contest no more ;
Haste, haste, to strowe her floore.
III.
Vermilion Ball that's given
From lip to lip in Heaven ;
Love's Couches cover-led :
Haste, haste, to make her bed.
IV.
Dear Offspring of pleas'd Venus,
And Jollie, plumpe Silenus ;
Haste, haste, to decke the Haire
Of th' only, sweetly Faire.
V.
See ! Rosie is her Bower,
Her floore is all this Flower ;
Her Bed a Rosie nest
By a Bed of Roses prest.
VI.
But early as she dresses,
Why fly you her bright Tresses ?
Ah ! I have found I feare ;
Because her Cheekes are neere.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Best Gains—must have the Losses' Test
684
Best Gains—must have the Losses' Test—
To constitute them—Gains—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Rewards
Still to our gains our chief respect is had ;
Reward it is that makes us good or bad.
poem by Robert Herrick
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In Your Corner
You've got to know what it's like,
To be yourself and be right.
Among smiling demons...
Who lie with delighted appetites.
And all that they do
Is undermine anyone like you
By screwing over others
Who accept them as being true!
They haste to erase your efforts.
And take credit for your gains!
Hoping you will be chased away
With a heartbreaking display of pain!
But God keeps in your corner...
And they hate the fact He is!
They have no idea,
The depth of your strength...
Which keeps your conscious clear!
And theirs...full of tears and much complaint!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Whenever a man makes haste, God too hastens with him.
Do not seek evil gains; evil gains are the equivalent of disaster.
Every good citizen makes his country's honor his own, and cherishes it not only as precious but as sacred. He is willing to risk his life in its defense and its conscious that he gains protection while he gives it.
quote by Andrew Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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haste makes waste
every bill
must go through the mill
quote by by John Celes
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It's coming—the postponeless Creature
390
It's coming—the postponeless Creature—
It gains the Block—and now—it gains the Door—
Chooses its latch, from all the other fastenings—
Enters—with a "You know Me—Sir"?
Simple Salute—and certain Recognition—
Bold—were it Enemy—Brief—were it friend—
Dresses each House in Crape, and Icicle—
And carries one—out of it—to God—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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A Grain Of Sand
A man sinks himself in a woman's esteem
When he bothers her with his love in haste,
An ordinary woman though she's been,
And she gains a great strength to dismiss him.
This privilege does not belong to her.
She has got this privilege granted by him
From his weakness for her love and figure.
It took much toll for him to understand.
When she kicked him out, ignoring his helps,
He felt his male ego maimed ruthlessly.
He dropped his claim on her and left for his wife.
Binodini was a grain of sand in all eyes.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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What Child Is This?
What child is this, who laid to rest
on Mary's lap is sleeping?
whom angels greet with anthems sweet
while shepherds watch are keeping?
This, this is Christ the King
whom shepherds guard and angels sing
haste, haste to bring him laud
the babe, the son of Mary
Why lies He in such mean state
where ox and and ass are feeding?
good christian, fear for sinners here
the silent word is pleading
this, this is Christ the King
whom shepherds guard and angels sing
haste, haste to bring him laud
the babe, the son of Mary
Nails, spear, shall, pierce him through
the cross be bome, for me, for you
hail, hail, the world made flesh
the babe, the son of Mary
this, this is Christ the King
whom shepherds guard and angels sing
haste, haste to bring him laud
the babe, the son of Mary
So bring him incense, gold and myrrh
come peasant, King to own him
the King of Kings salvation brings
let loving hearts enthrone him
this, this is Christ the King
whom shepherds guard and angels sing
haste, haste to bring him laud
the babe, the son of Mary
Raise, raise, the song on high
the Virgin sings her llullaby
joy, joy for Christ is born
the babe, the son of Mary
this, this is Christ the King
whom shepherds guard and angels sing
haste, haste to bring him laud
the babe, the son of Mary
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wrongs no more wrongs
Wrongful gains are cheating
What are wrongful gains?
The ones beyond the norms framed.
As the norms’ boundary enlarges
The wrongs come under the norms.
The society deteriorates.
20.01.2006.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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What Child Is This
What child is this
that lay to rest
on Mary's lap is sleeping
Whom Angels greet with anthem sweet
and shepard's watch are keeping
This , this is Christ the King
Whom shepards guard
and Angels sing
Haste, haste to bring him love
The babe, the son of Mary
So bring him incence, gold and merth
Come peasants king to honor him
The King of Kings salvation brings
and loving arms enthrone him
This, this is Christ the King
Whom shepards guard
And Angels sing
Haste, haste to bring him love
The babe, the son of Mary
This, this is Christ the King
Whom shepards guard
and Angels sing
Haste, haste to bring him love
The babe, the son of Mary
song performed by by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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