Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion
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Another Epilogue to Faith
If thou can move mountains
canst thou move my heart for me?
That it may beat the way it should be.
If I with thee can walk on waters,
canst thou dry the tears for me?
That I may walk in them no more.
If I with thee can do anything,
then why canst I love him back?
That I in kindness may fill what I lack.
If thou could lead the way for me,
canst thou put me to the path
that leads me to forgiveness..
that I may in goodness forgive myself.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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The Moral Force
If thou feelest not the beautiful, still thou with reason canst will it;
And as a spirit canst do, that which as man thou canst not.
poem by Friedrich Schiller
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The Gifts of God
THE LIGHT that fills thy house at morn,
Thou canst not for thyself retain;
But all who with thee here are born,
It bids to share an equal gain.
The wind that blows thy ship along,
Her swelling sails cannot confine;
Alike to all the gales belong,
Nor canst thou claim a breath as thine.
The earth, the green out-spreading earth,
Why hast thou fenced it off from me?
Hadst thou than I a nobler birth,
Who callest thine a gift so free?
The wave, the blue encircling wave,
No chains can bind, no fetters hold;
Its thunders tell of Him who gave
What none can ever buy for gold.
poem by Jones Very
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Licia Sonnets 21
Licia my love was sitting in a grove,
Tuning her smiles unto the chirping songs,
But straight she spied where two together strove,
Each one complaining of the other's wrongs.
Cupid did cry lamenting of the harm;
Jove's messenger, thou wrong'st me too too far;
Use thou thy rod, rely upon the charm;
Think not by speech my force thou canst debar.
A rod, Sir boy, were fitter for a child,
My weapons oft and tongue and mind you took;
And in my wrong at my distress thou smiled,
And scorned to grace me with a loving look.
Speak you, sweet love, for you did all the wrong
That broke his arrows, and did bind his tongue.
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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Song Of The Bell. (From The German)
Bell! thou soundest merrily,
When the bridal party
To the church doth hie!
Bell! thou soundest solemnly.
When, on Sabbath morning,
Fields deserted lie!
Bell! thou soundest merrily;
Tellest thou at evening,
Bed-time draweth nigh!
Bell! thou soundest mournfully.
Tellest thou the bitter
Parting hath gone by!
Say! how canst thou mourn?
How canst thou rejoice?
Thou art but metal dull!
And yet all our sorrowings,
Arid all our rejoicings,
Thou dost feel them all!
God hath wonders many,
Which we cannot fathom,
Placed within thy form!
When the heart is sinking,
Thou alone canst raise it,
Trembling in the storm!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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To The Rose: Song
Go, happy Rose, and interwove
With other flowers, bind my Love.
Tell her, too, she must not be
Longer flowing, longer free,
That so oft has fetter'd me.
Say, if she's fretful, I have bands
Of pearl and gold, to bind her hands;
Tell her, if she struggle still,
I have myrtle rods at will,
For to tame, though not to kill.
Take thou my blessing thus, and go
And tell her this,--but do not so!--
Lest a handsome anger fly
Like a lightning from her eye,
And burn thee up, as well as I!
poem by Robert Herrick
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Sonnet 4
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free:
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thy self alone,
Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive:
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
Which, used, lives th' executor to be.
poem by William Shakespeare from Sonnets (1609)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Sonnet 4: Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse,
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thyself alone,
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
Which usèd, lives th' executor to be.
poem by William Shakespeare
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In Maximum
WOULDST thou be free? I think it not, indeed;
But if thou wouldst, attend this simple rede:
When quite contented }thou canst dine at home
Thou shall be free when }
And drink a small wine of the march of Rome;
When thou canst see unmoved thy neighbour's plate,
And wear my threadbare toga in the gate;
When thou hast learned to love a small abode,
And not to choose a mistress A LA MODE:
When thus contained and bridled thou shalt be,
Then, Maximus, then first shalt thou be free.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Sadness and Joy
I pray you, Sadness, leave me soon,
In sweet invention thou art poor!
Thy sister, Joy can make ten songs
While thou art making four.
One hour with thee is sweet enough;
But when we find the whole day gone
And no created thing is left --
We mourn the evil done.
Thou art too slow to shape thy thoughts
In stone, on canvas, or in song;
But Joy, being full of active heat,
Must do some deed ere long.
Thy sighs are gentle, sweet thy tears;
But if thou canst not help a man
To prove in substance what he feels --
Then givve me Joy, who can.
Therefore sweet Sadness, leave me soon,
Let thy bright sister, Joy, come more;
For she can make ten lovely songs
While thou art making four.
poem by William Henry Davies
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In Nineveh.
As he of Joppa sought to 'scape
The utterance of the given word,
And dared to get him from the Lord
In a ship down to Tarshish, — know
Thou canst not any burden throw
That was ordained for thee to bear
Though faith may make it light as air.
Though thou within the dust may rave,
Within the dust may rave and curse
Thy being and the universe,
He sends His lightnings still abroad,
Yet plants for thee the shadowy gourd,
And comes so near He leaves a trace
Of beauty on thy bitter face.
Thou canst not lose thyself: thou art
The given word; its utterance too
Is in all thou dost dream and do:
All men must hear it, hearing thee:
Thou canst not 'scape the prophecy
Of thy life here, howe'er thou rave
Between the cradle and the grave.
What if thou wert He, being here —
So much of Him made flesh as can
Find its conception in a man;
Thy very breath His own, and thou
The veriest utterance of Him now?
It is His work: — let thyself be,
And He will cry in Nineveh!
poem by Robert Crawford
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Canst Thou Leave Me Thus, My Katie
Chorus
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie?
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie?
Well thou know'st my aching heart,
And canst thou leave me thus, for pity?
Is this thy plighted, fond regard,
Thus cruelly to part, my Katie?
Is this thy faithful swain's reward-
An aching, broken heart, my Katie!
Chorus
Farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear
That finkle heart of thine, my Katie!
Thou maysn find those will love thee dear,
But not a love like mine, my Katie,
Chorus
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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What Though I Cannot Break My Chain
What though I cannot break my chain
Or e’er throw off my load,
The things impossible to men
Are possible to God.
Who, who shall in Thy presence stand,
Or match omnipotence;
Unfold the grasp of Thy right hand
And pluck the sinner thence?
Faith to be healed I fain would have,
O might it now be given;
Thou canst, thou canst the sinner save,
And make me meet for heav’n.
Bound down with twice ten thousand ties,
Yet let me hear Thy call;
My soul in confidence shall rise,
Shall rise and break through all.
Thou canst o’ercome this heart of mine,
Thou wilt victorious prove;
For everlasting strength is Thine,
And everlasting love.
poem by Augustus Montague Toplady
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Youth And Age. (Sonnet III.)
Oh give me back the days when loose and free
To my blind passion were the curb and rein,
Oh give me back the angelic face again,
With which all virtue buried seems to be!
Oh give my panting footsteps back to me,
That are in age so slow and fraught with pain,
And fire and moisture in the heart and brain,
If thou wouldst have me burn and weep for thee!
If it be true thou livest alone, Amor,
On the sweet-bitter tears of human hearts,
In an old man thou canst not wake desire;
Souls that have almost reached the other shore
Of a diviner love should feel the darts,
And be as tinder to a holier fire.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Where Thou art—that—is Home
725
Where Thou art—that—is Home—
Cashmere—or Calvary—the same—
Degree—or Shame—
I scarce esteem Location's Name—
So I may Come—
What Thou dost—is Delight—
Bondage as Play—be sweet—
Imprisonment—Content—
And Sentence—Sacrament—
Just We two—meet—
Where Thou art not—is Woe—
Tho' Bands of Spices—row—
What Thou dost not—Despair—
Tho' Gabriel—praise me—Sire—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Anacreontics, The Swallow
FOOLISH prater, what dost thou
So early at my window do?
Cruel bird, thou'st ta'en away
A dream out of my arms to-day;
A dream that ne'er must equall'd be
By all that waking eyes may see.
Thou this damage to repair
Nothing half so sweet and fair,
Nothing half so good, canst bring,
Tho' men say thou bring'st the Spring.
poem by Abraham Cowley
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Evil Land
We meet in an evil land
That is near to the gates of hell.
I wait for thy command
To serve, to speed or withstand.
And thou sayest, I do not well?
Oh Love, the flowers so red
Are only tongues of flame,
The earth is full of the dead,
The new-killed, restless dead.
There is danger beneath and o'erhead.
And I guard thy gates in fear
Of words thou canst not hear,
Of peril and jeopardy,
Of signs thou canst not see—
And thou sayest 'tis ill that I came?
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Christmas-Box
THIS box, mine own sweet darling, thou wilt find
With many a varied sweetmeat's form supplied;
The fruits are they of holy Christmas tide,
But baked indeed, for children's use design'd.
I'd fain, in speeches sweet with skill combin'd,
Poetic sweetmeats for the feast provide;
But why in such frivolities confide?
Perish the thought, with flattery to blind!
One sweet thing there is still, that from within,
Within us speaks,--that may be felt afar;
This may be wafted o'er to thee alone.
If thou a recollection fond canst win,
As if with pleasure gleam'd each well-known star,
The smallest gift thou never wilt disown.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Confessional
Search thou my heart;
If there be guile,
It shall depart
Before thy smile.
Search thou my soul;
Be there deceit,
'T will vanish whole
Before thee, sweet.
Upon my mind
Turn thy pure lens;
Naught shalt thou find
Thou canst not cleanse.
If I should pray,
I scarcely know
In just what way
My prayers would go.
So strong in me
I feel love's leaven,
I 'd bow to thee
As soon as Heaven!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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He Gave Me No Meat
My brother, I am hungry,—give me food
Such as my Father gives me at his board;
He has for many years been to thee good,
Thou canst a morsel then to me afford;
I do not ask of thee a grain of that
Thou offerest when I call on thee for bread;
This is not of the wine nor olive fat,
But those who eat of this like thee are dead;
I ask the love the Father has for thee,
That thou should'st give it back to me again;
This shall my soul from pangs of hunger free,
And on my parched spirit fall like rain;
Then thou wilt prove a brother to my need,
For in the cross of Christ thou too canst bleed.
poem by Jones Very
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