Dad said that he was prouder of me than he'd ever been when I came out.
quote by Randy Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Prouder Man Than You
If you fancy that your people came of better stock than mine,
If you hint of higher breeding by a word or by a sign,
If you're proud because of fortune or the clever things you do --
Then I'll play no second fiddle: I'm a prouder man than you!
If you think that your profession has the more gentility,
And that you are condescending to be seen along with me;
If you notice that I'm shabby while your clothes are spruce and new --
You have only got to hint it: I'm a prouder man than you!
If you have a swell companion when you see me on the street,
And you think that I'm too common for your toney friend to meet,
So that I, in passing closely, fail to come within your view --
Then be blind to me for ever: I'm a prouder man than you!
If your character be blameless, if your outward past be clean,
While 'tis known my antecedents are not what they should have been,
Do not risk contamination, save your name whate'er you do --
`Birds o' feather fly together': I'm a prouder bird than you!
Keep your patronage for others! Gold and station cannot hide
Friendship that can laugh at fortune, friendship that can conquer pride!
Offer this as to an equal -- let me see that you are true,
And my wall of pride is shattered: I am not so proud as you!
poem by Henry Lawson
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A Dialouge
HE: I am in trouble, give me your advice.
SHE: No, for I'm sure 'twould not be carried out.
HE: It shall, I swear it shall, at any price.
SHE:If that's agreed, what is this all about?
HE:How can I win a woman who is fair
And cold?
SHE:Be colder.
HE:But she's proud as well.
SHE:Be prouder.
HE:But she does not seem to care,
Nor notice when I'm near.
SHE:How can you tell
Whether she does or not, until you've tried
Not being near? Avoid her, let her see
The change, and should chance place you at her side,
Be colder, prouder, civiler than she.
HE: But if she cares...
SHE: Then it will break her heart,
Which will be easier won.
HE: 'Tis too severe
On me: I could not.
SHE:Then you'd better part.
HE:Is this your counsel? Well, good-by, my dear.
SHE:Stay, there's one thing to do before you go.
HE: What?
SHE:lf you really love her, tell her so.
Perhaps you'll find her kinder than you know.
poem by Alice Duer Miller
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You've Got What Gets Me
You've got what gets me
What gets me, you've got
You've got what gets me
I don't know just what
But when you smile on me
I get prouder and prouder
My heart goes on a spree
Beating louder and louder
You've got what gets me
You're simply a wow
Let's you and let's me
Sign up now
This time i know it's love
Here's the reason and rhyme
You've got what gets me
Every time
(bridge)
You've got what gets me
You're simply a wow
Let's you and let's me
Sign up now
This time i know it's love
Here's the reason and rhyme
You've got what gets me
Every time
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'd be prouder still to say I was Canada's 10th woman prime minister.
quote by Kim Campbell
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I have three girls, and I say the same thing to them. I'm not involved in their careers because I've learned that it's important for them to stand on their own two feet. They'll feel better and prouder of themselves if they do.
quote by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Angel's Wings
I would die for you
Lay down my life for you
The only thing that means everything to me
'Cause when you're in my arms
You make me prouder than
Than anything I ever could achieve
And you make everything that used to seem so big
Seem to be so small since you arrived
On angel's winds
song performed by by Westlife from Coast To Coast
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm Proud
I am proud of my son
For what he’s grown up.
I am prouder when I heard
That he is proud of me
And much more when I made
My father proud by myself
Being proud of him
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Electoral Abuse After William Wordsworth Calais, August 15 1802
Festivals have I seen whose joyous names:
Turned sour as time took toll: election day
fair promise fails faced with crass quoldibet
which life dictator's power play proclaims
Our approbation starts with fun and games
soon palls as pals and croneys have their way
top-down corruptions spreads disease, dismay
from sea to sea, guilt prospers, freedom jail photo frames.
Though wheel turns much the same remains, some go,
some rise preceding fall from prouder climb;
ambition's senselessness to self seems crime!
Happy is he, who, caring not for Pope,
Dictatorship, abuse, stays sound can know
Man's destiny should, unbanned, expand in hope!
Festivals have I seen that were not names:
This is young Buonaparte's natal day,
And his is henceforth an established sway
Consul for life. With worship France proclaims
Her approbation, and with pomps and games.
Heaven grant that other Cities may be gay!
Calais is not: and I have bent my way
To the sea-coast, noting that each man frames
His business as he likes. Far other show
My youth here witnessed, in a prouder time;
The senselessness of joy was then sublime!
Happy is he, who, caring not for Pope,
Consul, or King, can sound himself to know
The destiny of Man, and live in hope.
William Wordsworth Calais
(29 February 2012)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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No News From The War
I.— At The Camp.
'IS she sitting in the meadow
Where the brook leaps to the mill,
Leaning low against the poplar,
Dreamily and still?
Now, with joined hands, grave, now smiling,
Gathering now and then
From her lap her woodland darlings,
Pale sweet cyclamen?
Sitting as she sat that evening,
Trying to feel that sweet same
Who was waiting me and knew not,
Feel as when I came?
Feel again the strange shy newness,
The betrothing one first kiss?
Oh, my own, you are remembering
In an hour like this.'
II.— In The Meadow.
'HERE, here it was he made me promise him;
He stood beneath that branch; here was his seat,
Just where the bole's shade makes the sunlights dim,
Beside me, at my feet.
Ah, since, so many times we have sat here:
And who can tell when that shall be again?
My love! my love!—But what have I to fear?
Could prayers like mine be vain?
He will not fall, my hero; he will come
Bringing ripe honours more to honour me;
He will come scatheless back, and tell his home
He helped to keep it free.
Oh, love! I was so proud of you before,
How can I be so much much prouder now?
And how can I grow prouder more and more?
Ah! but my heart knows how.'
III.— From A Special Correspondent's Letter.
*
'AND still no news to matter. Fights each day;
Hundreds of killed and wounded; but we wait
This great impending battle which, they say,
Will be more terrible even than the late.
It must come soon: to-morrow it might be.
Now, since I can tell nothing, let me give
An incident, merely to make you see
How near to death all of us here must live.
This morning, on my chosen slope, from whence
My watch, I thought, was safe, I chanced to see
A young and stalwart captain leap a fence
To pluck a cyclamen, not far from me,
Which made me note his face: this afternoon
On that same slope I saw his body lie
Among a dozen. Well, you may look soon
For tidings of some moment. Now, good-bye.'
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Amelie is beauty
how could you be
prouder of your origin?
you've seen that Amelie
many times
but each one
each moment
is an other pleasure
.And what about the music?
Nothing to add,
there is enough comment
it is easy to understand
what is perfect
whether happy or
sad
there is this kind
of listening that
ponders
yesterday it was the
music of my mother's death
today it is
for my sister's marriage
and another one
for my nephew's
baptism
the years have still
more to offer
i keep waiting
waiting and waiting
for more
for love.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Divorcees
Bulls are stronger than cows;
Cocks are prouder than hens.
Man is taller than woman.
It is the nature’s design.
Woman wants to grow as tall
As man in all respects.
Having grown like that now
She goes out of partner.
Her mind is still feminine,
Which demands a person
Who can hug her, lead her
And be superior to her.
She searches a partner,
Higher than her, in vain
And get one that miss-fires.
She lives as a divorcee.
25.08.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Mafeking
Once again, banners, fly!
Clang again, bells, on high,
Sounding to sea and sky,
Longer and louder,
Mafeking's glory with
Kimberley, Ladysmith,
Of our unconquered kith
Prouder and prouder.
Hemmed in for half a year,
Still with no succour near,
Nor word of hope to cheer
Wounded and dying,
Famished, and foiled of sleep
By the fierce cannon's leap,
They vowed still, still to keep
England's Flag flying.
Nor was their mettle shown
By male and strong alone,
But, as intrepid grown,
Fragile and tender,
Without or tear or sigh,
Echoed the brave old cry,
``We, too, would rather die,
Die than surrender.''
As pressed the foe more near,
Only with naked spear,
Ne'er knowing what to fear,
Parley, or blench meant,
Forward through shot and shell,
While still the foremost fell,
They with resistless yell
Stormed his entrenchment.
Then, when hope dawned at last,
And fled the foe, aghast
At the relieving blast
Heard in the melley,-
O our stout, stubborn kith!
Kimberley, Ladysmith,
Mafeking, wedded with
Lucknow and Delhi!
Sound for them martial lay!
Crown them with battle-bay,
Both those who died, and they
'Gainst death could wrestle:
Powell of endless fame,
All, all with equal claim,
And, of the storied name,
Gallant young Cecil!
Long as the waves shall roll,
Long as Fame guards her scroll,
And men through heart and soul
Thrill to true glory,
Their deed, from age to age,
Shall voice and verse engage,
Swelling the splendid page
Of England's Story.
poem by Alfred Austin
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What You Are To Me
Sweeter than a touch in a true love's kiss
Softer than the dew in the morning mist
Gentler than the fleece of a new born lamb
Kinder than the thought behind this man
is what you are to me.
Stronger than a ray from the sun above
Smoother than the feel of a new suede glove
Longer than the time in the universe
Wider than the seas where the ships immerse
is what you are to me.
Prouder than a peacock's fine display
Quieter than the way in which you pray
Clearer than the air which you inhale
Dearer than all life will you prevail
in what you are to me.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Lazy Poor Poet [Limerick]
There once was a lazy poor poet,
But indignant she didn't quiet know it.
Just one bad review,
And her blood turned all blue,
But she carried on much prouder for it.
One star: it is plenty enough.
For the tripe, for the drivel, and cruft.
When it doesn't keep time,
Paints no image, nor rhyme -
Well no thank you; you've written enough.
You may say that this limerick's a bore -
Because you don't get metaphore,
So you'll no longer see
Any critique from me.
Cry and moan - you'll get five stars for sure!
If you think that this poem's about you:
So sorry - it's probably true.
But just 'cause you write it
Let's not get excited.
The world doesn't centre on you.
poem by David Zvekic
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My Portion is Defeat—today
639
My Portion is Defeat—today—
A paler luck than Victory—
Less Paeans—fewer Bells—
The Drums don't follow Me—with tunes—
Defeat—a somewhat slower—means—
More Arduous than Balls—
'Tis populous with Bone and stain—
And Men too straight to stoop again—,
And Piles of solid Moan—
And Chips of Blank—in Boyish Eyes—
And scraps of Prayer—
And Death's surprise,
Stamped visible—in Stone—
There's somewhat prouder, over there—
The Trumpets tell it to the Air—
How different Victory
To Him who has it—and the One
Who to have had it, would have been
Contender—to die—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Come To My Aid
(m hucknall/f mcintyre)
Come to my aid youre sweet as everything
Come to my aid Id give you anything
I feel so betrayed by the people I love
Come to my aid its you Im thinking of
Prouder than wild
Sad enough to sing
Come to my aid and care for social living
Why are we liable to die for survival?
Why is our nation divided?
Come to my aid..
In the poverty stakes see just what it means
When welfare decimates youd better care
About your fellow people
Why are we liable to die for survival?
Why is our nation divided?
Come to my aid...
Come on board
song performed by by Simply Red
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Calais, August 15, 1802
FESTIVALS have I seen that were not names:
This is young Buonaparte's natal day,
And his is henceforth an established sway-
Consul for life. With worship France proclaims
Her approbation, and with pomps and games.
Heaven grant that other Cities may be gay!
Calais is not: and I have bent my way
To the sea-coast, noting that each man frames
His business as he likes. Far other show
My youth here witnessed, in a prouder time;
The senselessness of joy was then sublime!
Happy is he, who, caring not for Pope,
Consul, or King, can sound himself to know
The destiny of Man, and live in hope.
poem by William Wordsworth
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To A Sparrow
Because you have no fear to mingle
Wings with those of greater part,
So like me, with song I single
Your sweet impudence of heart.
And when prouder feathers go where
Summer holds her leafy show,
You still come to us from nowhere
Like grey leaves across the snow.
In back ways where odd and end go
To your meals you drop down sure,
Knowing every broken window
Of the hospitable poor.
There is no bird half so harmless,
None so sweetly rude as you,
None so common and so charmless,
None of virtues nude as you.
But for all your faults I love you,
For you linger with us still,
Though the wintry winds reprove you
And the snow is on the hill.
poem by Francis Ledwidge
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My Hunting Song
Forward! Hark forward's the cry!
One more fence and we're out on the open,
So to us at once, if you want to live near us!
Hark to them, ride to them, beauties! as on they go,
Leaping and sweeping away in the vale below!
Cowards and bunglers, whose heart or whose eye is slow,
Find themselves staring alone.
So the great cause flashes by;
Nearer and clearer its purposes open,
While louder and prouder the world-echoes cheer us:
Gentlemen sportsmen, you ought to live up to us,
Lead us, and lift us, and hallo our game to us-
We cannot call the hounds off, and no shame to us-
Don't be left staring alone!
Eversley, 1849.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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When I Was Fair And Young
When I was fair and young, then favor graced me.
Of many was I sought their mistress for to be.
But I did scorn them all and answered them therefore:
Go, go, go, seek some other where; importune me no more.
How many weeping eyes I made to pine in woe,
How many sighing hearts I have not skill to show,
But I the prouder grew and still this spake therefore:
Go, go, go, seek some other where, importune me no more.
Then spake fair Venus’ son, that proud victorious boy,
Saying: You dainty dame, for that you be so coy,
I will so pluck your plumes as you shall say no more:
Go, go, go, seek some other where, importune me no more.
As soon as he had said, such change grew in my breast
That neither night nor day I could take any rest.
Wherefore I did repent that I had said before:
Go, go, go, seek some other where, importune me no more.
poem by Queen Elizabeth I
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