The gravest fish is an oyster; the gravest bird's an ool; the gravest beast's an ass; and the gravest man's a fool.
Related quotes
Racism is man's gravest threat to man - the maximum of hatred for a minimum of reason.
quote by Abraham Joshua Heschel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
No thing after the war and you!
Conception
I was to say you over looking to me of silence window
alone like me
and you are to lead my heart to the dream
alone like me
and the road to take you from to you
alone like me
and the earth graves to point to you
alone like me
but the ash of gravest one to mold me alone
where are you from I?
poem by Faleeha Hassan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Every day some new fact comes to light - some new obstacle which threatens the gravest obstruction. I suppose this is the reason which makes the game so well worth playing.
quote by Robert Falcon Scott
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The gravest anxiety
The goodwill and the ill-will earned will die
When the people who know about them die.
However great or low I grow in life,
I’ll be dust to ensuing generations.
This is the gravest anxiety with which
Each one is obsessed in his ending days.
25.07.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fear is the reward.
Mother's death is the gravest.
One's own death is the deadliest.
One is destined to face the both.
The fear waits as rewards.
29.09.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In comparing various authors with one another, I have discovered that some of the gravest and latest writers have transcribed, word for word, from former works, without making acknowledgment.
Pliny the Elder in Natural History
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
But the gravest difficulty, and perhaps the most important, in poetry meant solely for recitation, is the difficulty of achieving verbal beauty, or rather of making verbal beauty tell.
quote by Lascelles Abercrombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Spirit's Depths
Not in the crisis of events
Of compass'd hopes, or fears fulfill'd,
Or acts of gravest consequence,
Are life's delight and depth reveal'd.
The day of days was not the day;
That went before, or was postponed;
The night Death took our lamp away
Was not the night on which we groan'd.
I drew my bride, beneath the moon,
Across my threshold; happy hour!
But, ah, the walk that afternoon
We saw the water-flags in flower!
poem by Coventry Patmore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On The Gallows
There is a gate, we know full well,
That stands 'twixt Heaven, and Earth, and Hell,
Where many for a passage venture,
Yet very few are fond to enter:
Although 'tis open night and day,
They for that reason shun this way:
Both dukes and lords abhor its wood,
They can't come near it for their blood.
What other way they take to go,
Another time I'll let you know.
Yet commoners with greatest ease
Can find an entrance when they please.
The poorest hither march in state
(Or they can never pass the gate)
Like Roman generals triumphant,
And then they take a turn and jump on't,
If gravest parsons here advance,
They cannot pass before they dance;
There's not a soul that does resort here,
But strips himself to pay the porter.
poem by Jonathan Swift
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Dare Not Put Heaven In Rage
I dare not put heaven In rage
For the mysteries I must keep
And stay away in this lonely cave
Waiting till all seeds are reap
The world is nothing but grains of sand
We sit in it lifeless and idle
Waiting for that very day
Were we would paddle in our own fiddle
The human soul must be kept in care
In this carnal body we call flesh
So they might not rot as the dead
Who's thought are nothing but air?
And yes! The philosophers they smile
Revealing to us what we have to know
And keeping the gravest secret in themselves
So tight that we cannot find
Ignorance live in this world
As the child close to her mothers breast
Sucking so greedily with contempt
Who hold the greatest secret of the world?
poem by Samuel Donkor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
New Heaven
Paradise now has many a Knight,
Many a lordkin, many lords,
Glimmer of armor, dinted and bright,
The young Knights have put on new swords.
Some have barely down on the lip,
Smiling yet from the new-won spurs,
Their wounds are rubies, glowing and deep,
Their scars amethyst-glorious scars.
Michael’s army hath many new men,
Gravest Knights that may sit in stall
Kings and Captains, a shining train,
But the little young Knights are dearest of all.
Paradise now is the soldiers land
Their own country its shining sod,
Comrades all in a merry band;
And the young Knights’ Laughter pleaseth God.
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Durer's 'Melencholia
THE bow of promise, this lost flaring star,
Terror and hope are in mid-heaven; but She,
The mighty-wing'd crown'd Lady Melancholy,
Heeds not. O to what vision'd goal afar
Does her thought bear those steadfast eyes which are
A torch in darkness? There nor shore nor sea,
Nor ebbing Time vexes Eternity,
Where that lone thought outsoars the mortal bar.
Tools of the brain--the globe, the cube--no more
She deals with; in her hand the compass stays;
Nor those, industrious genius, of her lore
Student and scribe, thou gravest of the fays,
Expect this secret to enlarge thy store;
She moves through incommunicable ways.
poem by Edward Dowden
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To My Daughter
O little one, daughter, my dearest,
With your smiles and your beautiful curls,
And your laughter, the brightest and clearest,
O gravest and gayest of girls;
With your hands that are softer than roses,
And your lips that are lighter than flowers,
And that innocent brow that discloses
A wisdom more lovely than ours;
With your locks that encumber, or scatter
In a thousand mercurial gleams,
And those feet whose impetuous patter
I hear and remember in dreams;
With your manner of motherly duty,
When you play with your dolls and are wise;
With your wonders of speech, and the beauty
In your little imperious eyes;
When I hear you so silverly ringing
Your welcome from chamber or stair.
When you run to me, kissing and clinging,
So radiant, so rosily fair;
I bend like an ogre above you;
I bury my face in your curls;
I fold you, I clasp you, I love you.
O baby, queen-blossom of girls!
poem by Archibald Lampman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Conclusion
Sleep not too much; nor longer than asleep
Within thy bed thy lazy body keep;
For when thou, warm awake, shall feel it soft,
Fond cogitations will assail thee oft:
Then start up early, study, work, or write,
Let labour, others' toil, be thy delight.
Eat not to much, or if thou much dost eat,
Let it not be dainty or stirring meat;
Abstain from wine, although thou think it good,
It sets thy meat on fire, and stirs thy blood;
Use thyself much to bathe thy wanton limbs,
In coolest streams which o'er the gravel swims:
Be still in gravest company, and fly
The wanton rabble of the younger fry,
Whose lustful tricks will lead thee to delight
To think on love, where thou shalt perish quite;
Come not at all where many women are,
But, like a bird that lately 'scaped the snare,
Avoid their garish beauty fly with speed,
And learn by her that lately made thee bleed;
Be not too much alone, but if alone,
Get thee some modest book to look upon;
But do not read the lines of wanton men,
Poetry sets thy mind on fire again:
Abstain from songs and verses, and take heed
That not a line of love thou ever read.
poem by Francis Beaumont
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Waits For None
Death waits for none
We have to go one by one
She or he may be dear one
But death spares no one
Have patience and courage
Some of the deaths may be in early age
That is tragic and hard to manage
Yet we got to forget soon the golden page
Feel strong when you are likely to abode
As if taken on divine horse and rode
One of the rarest occasions to have come across
Even though it may be a gravest loss
Last place is certain to rest
We might have endured all the tests
We may avail peace so far eluded
This is only point we might have conceded
Weep not as it may be an insult
To almighty who cared so much and built
Your life and shaped into precious entity
You were known as one of the best personality
Soon it will be by gone memory
No one should feel sorry
It must be kissed on true face
Eternal peace is on card without any chase
Loved so far and be loved here after
You are close to hart and not so far
You are placed in four walls of heart
That may blip in divine form of an art
I shall smile and kiss on your grave
Look confident and very much brave
Yet that is not solution or victory
I am sad for it and feel very sorry
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Go Down
I go down with heavy heart
I have failed to propagate the art
Could not make its essence known in true spirit
Even though it was noble and in its limit
You can fool people for considerable period
They may have compulsions not to avoid
When here is no choice between good and devil
Got to accept whatever is before us or on anvil
I think many times of life’s futility and its importance
I think no one takes serious interest to know it at once
Nothing goes wrong even if life is not understood
We can live entire life for availing money and food
I have prayed several times sincerely
I could achieve nothing or put up show rarely
If I pursue with great zeal it may be taken as pomp and show
Where as it is the only way open for us to grow
Some of the acts require nothing in substance
It needs some kind gesture and tolerance hence
To loose the patience is gravest mistake
Many may present it as totally fake
You have done hard work through out the life
It has remained unpredictable and strife torn
What do we know from entire projection?
Nothing more is done to prevent its fall from action?
Many more souls might have departed this before
I deliberately sit and continuously think therefore
What for have I been sent here as perishable object?
How can I openly go against certain things and reject?
It is normal reaction from human being as live entity
On earth you are being considered as humanly with good quality
Leave it to others to decide what is good or bad
You have no right to profess or feel so sad
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A reason to part with
I have every reason to part with
I couldn’t control the anger by closing the teeth
The body was shivering with cold and fear
How much pain and agony I had to bear?
You left me high and dry
I have nothing but to feel only shy
I had no reason to ask why
I did all but you did not try
I had all the way longed
You made me feel lonely and wronged
It was never expected to happen
It came as bolt from blue all of sudden
You may have some valid reasons
I could carry on with you as person
I had witness tremendous change in seasons
I felt it awkward and fearsome for no real reasons
You did nothing to salvage the prestige
You were not to be taken away in carriage
The best solution was only nuptial tie or marriage
I must admit it was failure and failed to manage
It is tragic end if don’t materialize
It can be gravest mistake if we realize
It is holiest bond if we can maintain
There is urgent need to last long and sustain
To part with or break up must be the last resort
It is shame and blot on our part to report
People may cut jokes if they come to know
It may be clear defeat and final blow
Care it like your own kid and look after
It should make you happy and lead to laughter
There can’t be any other option than to stay
You must have permanent bond and not to go away
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Upon The Horse and His Rider
There's one rides very sagely on the road,
Showing that he affects the gravest mode.
Another rides tantivy, or full trot,
To show much gravity he matters not.
Lo, here comes one amain, he rides full speed,
Hedge, ditch, nor miry bog, he doth not heed.
One claws it up-hill without stop or check,
Another down as if he'd break his neck.
Now every horse has his especial guider;
Then by his going you may know the rider.
Comparison.
Now let us turn our horse into a man,
His rider to a spirit, if we can.
Then let us, by the methods of the guider,
Tell every horse how he should know his rider.
Some go, as men, direct in a right way,
Nor are they suffered to go astray;
As with a bridle they are governed,
And kept from paths which lead unto the dead.
Now this good man has his especial guider,
Then by his going let him know his rider.
Some go as if they did not greatly care,
Whether of heaven or hell they should be heir.
The rein, it seems, is laid upon their neck,
They seem to go their way without a check.
Now this man too has his especial guider,
And by his going he may know his rider.
Some again run as if resolved to die,
Body and soul, to all eternity.
Good counsel they by no means can abide;
They'll have their course whatever them betide.
Now these poor men have their especial guider,
Were they not fools they soon might know their rider.
There's one makes head against all godliness,
Those too, that do profess it, he'll distress;
He'll taunt and flout if goodness doth appear,
And at its countenancers mock and jeer.
Now this man, too, has his especial guider,
And by his going he might know his rider.
poem by John Bunyan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pan the Fallen
1 He wandered into the market
2 With pipes and goatish hoof;
3 He wandered in a grotesque shape,
4 And no one stood aloof.
5 For the children crowded round him,
6 The wives and greybeards, too,
7 To crack their jokes and have their mirth,
8 And see what Pan would do.
9 The Pan he was they knew him,
10 Part man, but mostly beast,
11 Who drank, and lied, and snatched what bones
12 Men threw him from their feast;
13 Who seemed in sin so merry,
14 So careless in his woe,
15 That men despised, scarce pitied him,
16 And still would have it so.
17 He swelled his pipes and thrilled them,
18 And drew the silent tear;
19 He made the gravest clack with mirth
20 By his sardonic leer.
21 He blew his pipes full sweetly
22 At their amused demands,
23 And caught the scornful, earth-flung pence
24 That fell from careless hands.
25 He saw the mob's derision,
26 And took it kindly, too,
27 And when an epithet was flung,
28 A coarser back he threw;
29 But under all the masking
30 Of a brute, unseemly part,
31 I looked, and saw a wounded soul,
32 And a god-like, breaking heart.
33 And back of the elfin music,
34 The burlesque, clownish play,
35 I knew a wail that the weird pipes made,
36 A look that was far away,—
37 A gaze into some far heaven
38 Whence a soul had fallen down;
39 But the mob only saw the grotesque beast
40 And the antics of the clown.
41 For scant-flung pence he paid them
42 With mirth and elfin play,
43 Till, tired for a time of his antics queer,
44 They passed and went their way;
45 Then there in the empty market
46 He ate his scanty crust,
47 And, tired face turned to heaven, down
48 He laid him in the dust.
49 And over his wild, strange features
50 A softer light there fell,
51 And on his worn, earth-driven heart
52 A peace ineffable.
53 And the moon rose over the market,
54 But Pan the beast was dead;
55 While Pan the god lay silent there,
56 With his strange, distorted head.
57 And the people, when they found him,
58 Stood still with awesome fear.
59 No more they saw the beast's rude hoof,
60 The furtive, clownish leer;
61 But the lightest in that audience
62 Went silent from the place,
63 For they knew the look of a god released
64 That shone from his dead face.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!