Related quotes
No Other can reduce
982
No Other can reduce
Our mortal Consequence
Like the remembering it be nought
A Period from hence
But Contemplation for
Contemporaneous Nought
Our Single Competition
Jehovah's Estimate.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Life's Mighty Flood
WHAT is wrought in the forge of the living and life--
All things are nought! Ho! fill me the bowl,
For nought is the gear of the world and the strife!
One passion has quickened the heart and the soul,
The Beloved's presence alone they have sought--
Love at least exists; yet if Love were not,
Heart and soul would sink to the common lot--
All things are nought!
Like an empty cup is the fate of each,
That each must fill from Life's mighty flood;
Nought thy toil, though to Paradise gate thou reach,
If Another has filled up thy cup with blood;
Neither shade from the sweet-fruited trees could be bought
By thy praying-oh Cypress of Truth, dost not see
That Sidreh and Tuba were nought, and to thee
All then were nought!
The span of thy life is as five little days,
Brief hours and swift in this halting-place;
Rest softly, ah rest! while the Shadow delays,
For Time's self is nought and the dial's face.
On the lip of Oblivion we linger, and short
Is the way from the Lip to the Mouth where we pass
While the moment is thine, fill, oh Saki, the glass
Ere all is nought!
Consider the rose that breaks into flower,
Neither repines though she fade and die--
The powers of the world endure for an hour,
But nought shall remain of their majesty.
Be not too sure of your crown, you who thought
That virtue was easy and recompense yours;
From the monastery to the wine-tavern doors
The way is nought
What though I, too, have tasted the salt of my tears,
Though I, too, have burnt in the fires of grief,
Shall I cry aloud to unheeding ears?
Mourn and be silent! nought brings relief.
Thou, Hafiz, art praised for the songs thou hast wrought,
But bearing a stained or an honoured name,
The lovers of wine shall make light of thy fame--
All things are nought!
poem by Shams al-Din Hafiz
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The Number Nought
I really think that people ought
Value more the number 'nought'
Without this number much would differ
No algebra, no calculator
No internet and no PCs
A maths developed differently
'Nought' is the number that enables
Us to solve all those equations.
poem by David Keig
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To One False In Love
O false as fair
I am forgotten, then, by thee!
Or haply on another shine
The eyes that once looked into mine
Pretence of love — all faithlessly
Out! nought I care
For such as can true love betray!
Love on, forsworn, your little day:
Ye are nought to me.
On Late Acquired Wealth (From The Greek)
Poor in my youth, and in life's later scenes
Rich to no end, I curse my natal hour,
Who nought enjoy'd while young, denied the means;
And nought when old enjoy'd, denied the power.
poem by William Cowper
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The Convivial Book - Can The Koran From Eternity Be?
'Tis worth not a thought!
Can the Koran a creation, then, be?
Of that, I know nought!
Yet that the book of all books it must be,
I believe, as a Mussulman ought.
That from Eternity wine, though, must be,
I ever have thought;
That 'twas ordain'd, ere the Angels, to be,
As a truth may be taught.
Drinkers, however these matters may be,
Gaze on God's face, fearing nought.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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This Life Which Seems So Fair
This Life, which seems so fair,
Is like a bubble blown up in the air
By sporting children's breath,
Who chase it everywhere
And strive who can most motion it bequeath.
And though it sometimes seem of its own might
Like to an eye of gold to be fixed there,
And firm to hover in that empty height,
That only is because it is so light.
But in that pomp it doth not long appear;
For when 'tis most admired, in a thought,
Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought.
poem by William Henry Drummond
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The Spider holds a Silver Ball
The spider holds a Silver Ball
In unperceived Hands--
And dancing softly to Himself
His Yarn of Pearl--unwinds--
He plies from Nought to Nought--
In unsubstantial Trade--
Supplants our Tapestries with His--
In half the period--
An Hour to rear supreme
His Continents of Light--
Then dangle from the Housewife's Broom--
His Boundaries--forgot--
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Holdfast
I threatened to observe the strict decree
Of my deare God with all my power and might:
But I was told by one, `It could not be;
Yet I might trust in God to be my light.'
`Then will I trust,' said I, `in Him alone.'
`Nay, ev'n to trust in Him, was also His:
We must confesse that nothing is our own.'
`Then I confesse that He my succour is.'
`But to have nought is ours, not to confesse
That we have nought.' I stood amaz'd at this,
Much troubled, till I heard a friend expresse
That all things were more ours by being His:
What Adam had, and forfeited for all,
Christ keepeth now, Who cannot fail or fall.
poem by George Herbert
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November
There is wind where the rose was,
Cold rain where sweet grass was,
And clouds like sheep
Stream o'er the steep
Grey skies where the lark was.
Nought warm where your hand was,
Nought gold where your hair was,
But phantom, forlorn,
Beneath the thorn,
Your ghost where your face was.
Cold wind where your voice was,
Tears, tears where my heart was,
And ever with me,
Child, ever with me,
Silence where hope was.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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Overhead the Tree-Tops Meet
Overhead the tree-tops meet,
Flowers and grass spring 'neath one's feet;
There was nought above me, and nought below,
My childhood had not learned to know:
For what are the voices of birds
—Ay, and of beasts,—but words—our words,
Only so much more sweet?
The knowledge of that with my life begun!
But I had so near made out the sun,
And counted your stars, the Seven and One,
Like the fingers of my hand:
Nay, I could all but understand
Wherefore through heaven the white moon ranges,
And just when out of her soft fifty changes
No unfamiliar face might overlook me—
Suddenly God took me!
poem by Robert Browning
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Think of the Slave
Think of the slave, in your hours of glee,
Ye who are treading life's flowery way;
Nought but its rankling thorns has he,
Nought but the gloom of its wintry day.
Think of the slave, in your hours of woe!—
What are your sorrows, to that he bears?
Quenching the light of his bosom's glow,
With a life-long stain of gushing tears.
Think of the slave, in your hours of prayer,
When worldly thoughts in your hearts are dim,
Offer your thanks for the bliss ye share,
But pray for a brighter lot for him.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sonnet IX
LOng-while I sought to what I might compare
those powrefull eies, which lighte[n] my dark spright,
yet find I nought on earth to which I dare
resemble th'ymage of their goodly light.
Not to the Sun: for they doo shine by night;
nor to the Moone: for they are changed neuer;
nor to the Starres: for they haue purer sight;
nor to the fire: for they consume not euer;
Nor to the lightning: for they still persuer;
nor to the Diamond: for they are more tender;
nor vnto Christall: for nought may them seuer;
nor vnto glasse: such basenesse mought offend her;
Then to the Maker selfe they likest be,
whose light doth lighten all that here we see.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Love's Pledge - from Mechthild of Magdeburg
Two lovers in an inner room withdrawn,
and speaking much of love, as one to one;
and yet their speech so ardent in its truth,
not sound but rather silence seems to reign.
These silent lovers are the soul and God;
their silence, prayer, which brought them, joins them, here;
they talk of all that lovers ever speak,
and plight their troth as lovers ever swear:
'Yet nought I have to give you, but myself;
and that I give, and beg of you to take;
and nought I ask of you, but that yourself
you give to me in truth for my soul's sake...'
No lovers' pledge more common, nor more true;
no love more constant; nor more holy vow.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Missing title : skey: LA BELLA BONA
I.
I cannot tell, who loves the skeleton
Of a poor marmoset; nought but boan, boan;
Give me a nakednesse, with her cloath's on.
II.
Such, whose white-sattin upper coat of skin,
Cut upon velvet rich incarnadin,
Has yet a body (and of flesh) within.
III.
Sure, it is meant good husbandry in men,
Who do incorporate with aery leane,
T' repair their sides, and get their ribb agen.
IV.
Hard hap unto that huntsman, that decrees
Fat joys for all his swet, when as he sees,
After his 'say, nought but his keepers fees.
V.
Then, Love, I beg, when next thou tak'st thy bow,
Thy angry shafts, and dost heart-chasing go,
Passe RASCALL DEARE, strike me the largest doe.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Car Salesman
Nought per cent finance, what a con!
Nought per cent finance, you’re having me on
That's the offer that brought me in here,
Buying this car is going to cost me dear.
Let's look at the figures just once more,
Prevent you heading straight for the door.
Perhaps we can do some kind of deal
To greatly change the way you feel.
Tell me what you want and we'll do our best
To find the car that passes your test.
You can choose the colour and the engine size
As long as you see I’m not telling you lies!
Air-con you can have, or alloy wheels,
Though that's the type a car thief steals!
A silver one is nice, or what about blue?
It’ll match your eyes and really suit you.
They taught me what to say to you in selling school
Making you believe I'm playing by the rule
So come on, buy the car, that’s now not then,
Cos I’ve heard you really want it for your daughter, Jen!
poem by Lindsey Priest
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Jehovah's Witness
Grueling phantoms apparate before my eyes,
Never-ending, a torrent of darkness,
Under this unholy light, the candle flickering be our lives,
Evermore entrapped and confined in the Abyss.
Lingering in the air, a pungent odor,
Your misery the torturer savored,
Cherishing your piercing screams, diabolical, Death's entity,
As we silently watched, immobile from our gaols.
Realizing we would be prisoners forever,
To embrace the Devil as a lover,
Dangling before our glazed eyes our inevitable Fate,
Nought to live, our pitiful survival negated,
A pathway to Tartarus shall now lead the way,
Walk the path under Satan's fiery gaze,
Endless pain shall come but no promise in God's name,
Locked in eternal night, nought to see light again.
Dear and cherished ones forgotten and swept away,
Never searched for and to be found again,
Under this unholy light, the flickering be our flame,
My death shall be nought, but a dropp in the ocean,
Despair not for whom is there to despair?
Est vitas ions ut terminus?
poem by Johnathan Andrew Collins
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Echoes Of Love's House
Love gives every gift whereby we long to live
“Love takes every gift, and nothing back doth give.”
Love unlocks the lips that else were ever dumb:
“Love locks up the lips whence all things good might come.”
Love makes clear the eyes that else would never see:
“Love makes blind the eyes to all but me and thee.”
Love turns life to joy till nought is left to gain:
“Love turns life to woe till hope is nought and vain.”
Love, who changest all, change me nevermore!
“Love, who changest all, change my sorrow sore!”
Love burns up the world to changeless heaven and blest,
“Love burns up the world to a void of all unrest.”
And there we twain are left, and no more work we need:
“And I am left alone, and who my work shall heed?”
Ah! I praise thee, Love, for utter joyance won!
“And is my praise nought worth for all my life undone?”
poem by William Morris
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Mine and Thine
Two words about the world we see,
And nought but Mine and Thine they be.
Ah! might we drive them forth and wide
With us should rest and peace abide;
All free, nought owned of goods and gear,
By men and women though it were
Common to all all wheat and wine
Over the seas and up the Rhine.
No manslayer then the wide world o'er
When Mine and Thine are known no more.
Yea, God, well counselled for our health,
Gave all this fleeting earthly wealth
A common heritage to all,
That men might feed them therewithal,
And clothe their limbs and shoe their feet
And live a simple life and sweet.
But now so rageth greediness
That each desireth nothing less
Than all the world, and all his own,
And all for him and him alone.
poem by William Morris
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Oneliness
Sometimes the keyboard
gets fed up with sausage fingers
and takes matters into
it own electric energies,
its cyber wisdom that knows
only nought and one..
and who wants to hear a poem
about ‘my’ loneliness
as if writing about it will dump it all on you
and I can get on with my life
but oneliness ah that’s something
I don’t even need to write a poem about
I only need to say it and you know
exactly what I mean
now the computer has reminded me:
when you’re complete, invulnerable,
need nothing more; when even dreams
fall still in awe of oneliness..
oneliness.. it has the sound of authority
as if medieval mystics like Juliana of Norwich
or the writer of the Cloud of Unknowing
are sharing the knowing of it with us;
perhaps the computer, too, switched off at night,
sighs and knows with a shiver of delight
that state that knows itself like maybe
nought and one may know themselves; like
truth just knows itself;
so good, so beautiful; warm
as a shared heart;
oneliness
poem by Michael Shepherd
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