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Bide A Wee
'The puir auld folk at home, ye mind,
Are frail and failing sair;
And weel I ken they'd miss me, lad,
Gin I come hame nae mair.
The grist is out, the times are hard,
The kine are only three;
I canna leave the auld folk now.
We'd better bide a wee.
'I fear me sair they're failing baith;
For when I sit apart,
They talk o' Heaven so earnestly,
It well nigh breaks my heart.
So, laddie, dinna urge me now,
It surely winna be;
I canna leave the auld folk yet.
We'd better bide a wee.'
poem by Louisa May Alcott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Duncan Gray
1 Duncan Gray came here to woo,
2 Ha, ha, the wooin o't!
3 On blythe Yule night when we were fou,
4 Ha, ha, the wooin o't!
5 Maggie coost her head fu high,
6 Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,
7 Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;
8 Ha, ha, the wooin o't!
9 Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd,
10 Ha, ha, the wooin o't!
11 Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,
12 Ha, ha, the wooin o't!
13 Duncan sigh'd baith out and in,
14 Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',
15 Spak o' lowpin owre a linn;
16 Ha, ha, the wooin o't!
17 Time and chance are but a tide,
18 Ha, ha, the wooin o't!
19 Slighted love is sair to bide,
20 Ha, ha, the wooin o't!
21 'Shall I, like a fool,' quoth he,
22 'For a haughty hizzie die?
23 She may gae to--France for me!'--
24 Ha, ha, the wooin o't!
25 How it comes let doctors tell,
26 Ha, ha, the wooin o't!
27 Meg grew sick as he grew hale,
28 Ha, ha, the wooin o't!
29 Something in her bosom wrings,
30 For relief a sigh she brings;
31 And O! her een, they spak sic things
32 Ha, ha, the wooin o't!
33 Duncan was a lad o' grace,
34 Ha, ha, the wooin o't!
35 Maggie's was a piteous case,
36 Ha, ha, the wooin o't!
37 Duncan could na be her death,
38 Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath;
39 Now they're crouse and cantie baith;
40 Ha, ha, the wooin o't!
poem by Robert Burns
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Veils & Visions
I crash so hard
Fall so low
Just when things look right
That's when you know that I'm alone
I take the chance
To lose it all
Take a look around me
And you'll see where I have stalled
This is the last time that I'm sayin'
And here's the end
Of the night
Of the line
Won't somebody save me?
Here's the time
Time for more
Time for everything and anything
It's alright
It's alright
And we go on and on and on and on again
The rooms on fire
You lock the door
Your new way of thinking will not get
Me off the floor
Take this time
To take a fall
I've given you my best
And now you won't see that at all
This is the last time that I'm sayin'
And here's the end
Of the night
Of the line
Won't somebody save me?
Here's the time
Time for more
Time for everything and anything
It's alright
It's alright
And we go on and on and on and on again
Back beat
Everybody is changing
I'm so stuck and you are amazing
This is my low
You are the reason
Live to be numb
My fall is the season
Inhale the bullshit
Makes my skin itch but it gets me lit
Don't ya wish that the pieces fit
Like when we were kids
You can't bide lost time
Can't bide lost time
You can't bide lost time
Can't bide yours and mine
You can't bide lost time
Can't bide lost time
You can't bide lost time
Can't bide yours and mine
Mine
Here's the end
Of the night
Of the line
Won't somebody save me?
Here's the time
Time for more
Time for everything and anything
It's alright
It's alright
And we go on and on and on and on
On and on and on and on again
song performed by by Zebrahead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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'Twas Na Her Bonie Blue E'e
'Twas na her bonie blue e'e was my ruin:
Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoin.
'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us.
'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stoun glance o' kindness!
Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me;
But tho' fell Fortune should fate us to sever,
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.
Chloris, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest,
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest,
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter -
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter!
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Home of Death
'Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?'
'I bide in ilka breath,'
Quo' Death;
'No i' the pyramids,
No whaur the wormie rids
'Neth coffin-lids;
I bidena whaur life has been,
An' whaur's nae mair to be dune.'
'Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?'
'Wi' the leevin, to dee 'at are laith,'
Quo' Death;
'Wi' the man an' the wife
'At loo like life,
Bot strife;
Wi' the bairns 'at hing to their mither,
Wi' a' 'at loo ane anither.'
'Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?'
'Abune an' aboot an' aneth,'
Quo' Death;
'But o' a' the airts
An' o' a' the pairts,
In herts-
Whan the tane to the tither says, Na,
An' the north win' begins to blaw.'
poem by George MacDonald
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Song. In Vain You Tell Your Parting Lover
In vain you tell your parting lover
You wish fair winds may waft him over
Alas! what winds can happy prove
That bear me far from what I love?
Alas! what dangers on the main
Can equal those that I sustain
From slighted vows and cold disdain?
Be gentle, and in pity choose
To wish the wildest tempests loose,
That thrown again upon the coast
Where first my shipwreck'd heart was lost,
I may once more repeat my pain,
Once more in dying notes complain
Of slighted vows and cold disdain.
poem by Matthew Prior
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The Sea-Swallows
THIS FELL when Christmas lights were done,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
But before the Easter lights begun;
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.
Two lovers sat where the rowan blows
And all the grass is heavy and fine,
By the gathering-place of the sea-swallows
When the wind brings them over Tyne.
Blossom of broom will never make bread,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
Between her brows she is grown red,
That was full white in the fields by Tyne.
“O what is this thing ye have on,
Show me now, sweet daughter of mine?”
“O father, this is my little son
That I found hid in the sides of Tyne.
“O what will ye give my son to eat,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Fen-water and adder’s meat,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye get my son to wear,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“A weed and a web of nettle’s hair,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye take to line his bed,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Two black stones at the kirkwall’s head,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye give my son for land,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Three girl’s paces of red sand,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye give me for my son,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Six times to kiss his young mouth on,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“But what have ye done with the bearing-bread,
And what have ye made of the washing-wine?
Or where have ye made your bearing-bed,
To bear a son in the sides of Tyne?”
“The bearing-bread is soft and new,
There is no soil in the straining wine:
The bed was made between green and blue,
It stands full soft by the sides of Tyne.
“The fair grass was my bearing-bread,
The well-water my washing-wine;
The low leaves were my bearing-bed,
And that was best in the sides of Tyne.”
“O daughter, if ye have done this thing,
I wot the greater grief is mine;
This was a bitter child-bearing,
When ye were got by the sides of Tyne.
“About the time of sea-swallows
That fly full thick by six and nine,
Ye’ll have my body out of the house,
To bury me by the sides of Tyne.
“Set nine stones by the wall for twain,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
For the bed I take will measure ten,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.
“Tread twelve girl’s paces out for three,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
For the pit I made has taken me,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Hugo's "flower to butterfly"
Sweet, bide with me and let my love
Be an enduring tether;
Oh, wanton not from spot to spot,
But let us dwell together.
You've come each morn to sip the sweets
With which you found me dripping,
Yet never knew it was not dew
But tears that you were sipping.
You gambol over honey meads
Where siren bees are humming;
But mine the fate to watch and wait
For my beloved's coming.
The sunshine that delights you now
Shall fade to darkness gloomy;
You should not fear if, biding here,
You nestled closer to me.
So rest you, love, and be my love,
That my enraptured blooming
May fill your sight with tender light,
Your wings with sweet perfuming.
Or, if you will not bide with me
Upon this quiet heather,
Oh, give me wing, thou beauteous thing,
That we may soar together.
poem by Eugene Field
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Una Bawn
Una Bawn, the days are long,
And the seas I cross are wide,
I must go when Ireland needs,
And you must bide.
And should I not return to you
When the sails are on the tide,
'Tis you will find the days so long,
Una Bawn, and I must bide.
poem by Francis Ledwidge
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Yes... Just Like That
One can love you with the intensity of
The BIG BANG when it ignited.
One can love you until our Sun fades
And our planet Earth is blighted.
One can love you with the simple joys
That can make a child delighted.
One can love you and defend you
And offer comfort when you're slighted.
One can love you like a kitten
When a ball of string makes it excited.
One can love you with the vision
That's not short but only far sighted.
One can love you in so many more ways
But don't rhyme and aren't cited.
Although such a love just can't last
If it continues long unrequited
poem by Edward Iacona
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How Much Must I endure?
'How much must I endure? ' I say to thee-
'How long must I bide? ', for the Glorious Day, to be,
'When I may count amongst many a Blessing-
The moment when, at long last, our lips are caressing
Each, the others-and other moments, about which WE dream?
When might we each truly discover our soul's redeem? '
'How much must I endure? ', you say, to me-
'How long must I bide, for the Glorious Day, to be,
When I am allowed to actualize that to which I aspire?
At what point do I get to realize my every desire? '
'Now, Precious Children of Mine! ', booms a Voice, from Above-
'The Time is NOW Beloveds, for Your Eternal Love! '
-Maurice Harris,26 January 2012
poem by Maurice Harris
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The Highland Widow's Lament
Oh, I am come to the low countrie,
Och on, och on, och rie!
Without a penny in my purse,
To buy a meal to me.
It was na sae in the Highland hills,
Och on, och on, och rie!
Nae woman in the country wide
Sae happy was as me.
For then I had a score o' kye,
Och on, och on, och rie!
Feeding on yon hills so high,
And giving milk to me.
And there I had threescore o' yowes,
Och on, och on, och rie!
Skipping on yon bonnie knowes,
And casting woo' to me.
I was the happiest of a' the clan,
Sair, sair may I repine;
For Donald was the brawest man,
And Donald he was mine.
Till Charlie Stuart cam' at last,
Sae far to set us free;
My Donald's arm was wanted then
For Scotland and for me.
Their waefu' fate what need I tell?
Right to the wrang did yield:
My Donald and his country fell
Upon Culloden field.
Och on, O Donald O!
Och on, och on, och rie!
Nae woman in the warld wide
Sae wretched now as me.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Love Gregor; Or, The Lass Of Lochroyan
'O wha will shoe my fu' fair foot?
And wha will glove my hand?
And wha will lace my middle jimp,
Wi' the new-made London band?
'And wha will kaim my yellow hair,
Wi' the new made silver kaim?
And wha will father my young son,
Till Love Gregor come hame?'
'Your father will shoe your fu' fair foot,
Your mother will glove your hand;
Your sister will lace your middle jimp
Wi' the new-made London band.
'Your brother will kaim your yellow hair,
Wi' the new made silver kaim;
And the king of heaven will father your bairn,
Till Love Gregor come haim.'
'But I will get a bonny boat,
And I will sail the sea,
For I maun gang to Love Gregor,
Since he canno come hame to me.'
O she has gotten a bonny boat,
And sailld the sa't sea fame;
She langd to see her ain true-love,
Since he could no come hame.
'O row your boat, my mariners,
And bring me to the land,
For yonder I see my love's castle,
Close by the sa't sea strand.'
She has ta'en her young son in her arms,
And to the door she's gone,
And lang she's knocked and sair she ca'd,
But answer got she none.
'O open the door, Love Gregor,' she says,
'O open, and let me in;
For the wind blaws thro' my yellow hair,
And the rain draps o'er my chin.'
'Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
You'r nae come here for good;
You'r but some witch, or wile warlock,
Or mer-maid of the flood.'
'I am neither a witch nor a wile warlock,
Nor mer-maid of the sea,
I am Fair Annie of Rough Royal;
O open the door to me.'
'Gin ye be Annie of Rough Royal--
And I trust ye are not she--
Now tell me some of the love-tokens
That past between you and me.'
'O dinna you mind now, Love Gregor,
When we sat at the wine,
How we changed the rings frae our fingers?
And I can show thee thine.
'O yours was good, and good enough,
But ay the best was mine;
For yours was o' the good red goud,
But mine o' the diamonds fine.
'But open the door now, Love Gregor,
O open the door I pray,
For your young son that is in my arms
Will be dead ere it be day.'
'Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
For here ye shanno win in;
Gae drown ye in the raging sea,
Or hang on the gallows-pin.'
When the cock had crawn, and day did dawn,
And the sun began to peep,
Then up he rose him, Love Gregor,
And sair, sair did he weep.
'O I dreamd a dream, my mother dear,
The thoughts o' it gars me greet,
That Fair Annie of Rough Royal
Lay cauld dead at my feet.'
'Gin it be for Annie of Rough Royal
That ye make a' this din,
She stood a' last night at this door,
But I trow she wan no in.'
'O wae betide ye, ill woman,
An ill dead may ye die!
That ye woudno open the door to her,
Nor yet woud waken me.'
O he has gone down to yon shore-side,
As fast as he could fare;
He saw Fair Annie in her boat,
But the wind it tossd her sair.
And 'Hey, Annie!' and 'How, Annie!
O Annie, winna ye bide?'
But ay the mair that he cried 'Annie,'
The braider grew the tide.
And 'Hey, Annie!' and 'How, Annie!
Dear Annie, speak to me!'
But ay the louder he cried 'Annie,'
The louder roard the sea.
The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough,
And dashd the boat on shore;
Fair Annie floats on the raging sea,
But her young son rose no more.
Love Gregor tare his yellow hair,
And made a heavy moan;
Fair Annie's corpse lay at his feet,
But his bonny young son was gone.
O cherry, cherry was her cheek,
And gowden was her hair,
But clay cold were her rosey lips,
Nae spark of life was there,
And first he's kissd her cherry cheek,
And neist he's kissed her chin;
And saftly pressd her rosey lips,
But there was nae breath within.
'O wae betide my cruel mother,
And an ill dead may she die!
For she turnd my true-love frae my door,
When she came sae far to me.'
poem by Andrew Lang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Last Look
One last look is all I have
of our home we built together
were our dreams were born
with one last look I bide them farewell
One Last look is all I have
Saying good bye to the town
where we played and dreamed together
the tree were we shared our fist kiss
the fountain where I asked for your love
I watch as we leave
never to see this place again
One last looks is all I have
as soldiers over run our home
we didn't choose a side in the war
but we were considered a threat
one last look is all I have
because of a fool king fears us
One last look is all I will have
as I see the soldiers arrive
our convoy leaves ahead of them
hoping that we will be long gone
to somewhere safe before they come
but alas it isn't to be
One Last look is all I have
to see you my love
as I turn my horse to face the soldiers
I hear you cry my name
I take one last look
I see the tears in your eyes
I feel them in mine
others ride with me
we take one last look
at what means the most to us
as we raise our blades
and a cry escapes our lips
we bide farewell
with one last look
poem by Trevor McLeod
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Im Sorry
Dont bide your time
cause it is almost over
And I know youre down
And Ill see you around
And I know it hurts
But youre just getting older
And I know youll win
Youll do it once again
Just yesterday
It always seemed like such a dream
Were unstoppable, indestructable
Nothing happens to our machine
And theres no harm
At least nothing I can see
As for you, not so true
You couldnt choose where his road would lead
What a loss
You just lost all your sleep
And weve always thought
That this could never happen, you see
That its so hard
You gotta get up on your feet
cause the only way, I gotta say
Is to move on through the week
Dont bide your time
cause it is almost over
And I know youre down
And Ill see you around
And I know it hurts
But youre just getting older
And I know youll win
Youll do it once again
Sorry [x16]
(sorry...) happened to you [x4]
Dont bide your time
cause it is almost over
And I know youre down
And Ill see you around
And I know it hurts
But youre just getting older
And I know youll win
Youll do it once again
song performed by by Blink 182
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Golden Door
I am always bound to you but,
Will you not bide your years as i do bide mine?
I am always bound to you,
Like the dead flame of the fallen day;
Surely, i shall be wiser with you always.
Of the golden door under the palm tree,
We know each other than all our lives;
But a year is not so long ahead.
A life long hunger,
Like a drunkard's hand;
Come out and see the golden door.
Such a change,
Much to look for;
You have been my guide in this house.
I earnestly prayed for a sign and,
I grieve to see you poor and wanting my help;
But, can one love twice?
Like the dead flame of the fallen day.
The golden door,
You have closed the best among us;
But today, i am rich and well to do.
At the golden door,
She sold her wares for less;
But, growing she know not where.
Of the golden door,
Of where he fixed his heart to set his hand;
Come and see swimming eyes of love,
Can you ever be loved again? !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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