Money is a handmaiden, if thou knowest how to use it; a mistress, if thou knowest not.
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The True Knowledge
Thou knowest all; I seek in vain
What lands to till or sow with seed -
The land is black with briar and weed,
Nor cares for falling tears or rain.
Thou knowest all; I sit and wait
With blinded eyes and hands that fail,
Till the last lifting of the veil
And the first opening of the gate.
Thou knowest all; I cannot see.
I trust I shall not live in vain,
I know that we shall meet again
In some divine eternity.
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Ch 07 On The Effects Of Education Story 13
An Indian who was learning how to throw naphtha was thus reproved by a sage: ‘This is not a play for thee whose house is made of reeds.’
Speak not unless thou knowest it is perfectly proper
And ask not what thou knowest will not elicit a good reply.
Sheer Jealousy for MY Lady Irene
Triple triolet
Thou knowest that I love thee well
I never tire of telling thee
nor dost thou tire of hearing me.
Thou always smilest pleasantly.
Sometimes a little wickedly.
Thou knowest that I love thee well.
Thou knowest that I love thee well
On that we can both agree
we live together happily.
Thou knowest that I love thee well.
-
Though other folks may doubt our claim.
Methinks they show their jealousy
Because they do not want to see
A couple unafraid to be
in love and show it easily
Though other folks may doubt our claim.
Though other folks may doubt our claim.
We can state with honesty,
we never ever disagree.
Though other folks may doubt our claim
-
They are entitled to their view.
We will not stoop to argument,
we know that we are well content
They are entitled to their view.
Although of course we cant agree,
we can accept quite easily
They are entitled to their view.
26/10/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Only a Shrine, but Mine
918
Only a Shrine, but Mine—
I made the Taper shine—
Madonna dim, to whom all Feet may come,
Regard a Nun—
Thou knowest every Woe—
Needless to tell thee—so—
But can'st thou do
The Grace next to it—heal?
That looks a harder skill to us—
Still—just as easy, if it be thy Will
To thee—Grant me—
Thou knowest, though, so Why tell thee?
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Study what thou art Whereof thou art a part What thou knowest of this art This is really what thou art. All that is without thee also is within.
quote by William Drummond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Prodigal's Return
I reach my hand to thee!
Stoop; take my hand in thine;
Lead me where I would be,
Father divine.
I do not even know
The way I want to go,
The way that leads to rest:
But, Thou who knowest me,
Lead where I cannot see,
Thou knowest best.
Toys, worthless, yet desired,
Drew me afar to roam.
Father, I am so tired;
I am come home.
The love I held so cheap
I see, so dear, so deep,
So almost understood.
Life is so cold and wild,
I am thy little child -
I WILL be good.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The War Films
O living pictures of the dead,
O songs without a sound,
O fellowship whose phantom tread
Hallows a phantom ground --
How in a gleam have these revealed
The faith we had not found.
We have sought God in a cloudy Heaven,
We have passed by God on earth:
His seven sins and his sorrows seven,
His wayworn mood and mirth,
Like a ragged cloak have hid from us
The secret of his birth.
Brother of men, when now I see
The lads go forth in line,
Thou knowest my heart is hungry in me
As for thy bread and wine;
Thou knowest my heart is bowed in me
To take their death for mine.
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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The Test
Love has moods: and I am cold,
Very cold ofttimes to Thee;
Fain to slip from Thy dear hold
To my follies and be free.
Yet I love: Thou knowest all.
I am Thine in heat and chill;
Thou, Thou hast my heart in thrall,
All my life and all my will.
Thou, Immortal Lover, sure
Knowest the way that lovers have,
Now so cold, afraid, unsure,
Now afire with love and brave.
If I loved less it might be
That the way was smoother, less
Of the heavenly joys for me
And the cast-down bitterness.
I am cold -- be that Love's proof! --
And I burn -- the proof again! --
I would not be smooth but rough
Lest the smoother love should wane.
Give me earth or Heaven -- and yet
If it is Love's test to swing
'Twixt the earth and Heaven still set --
I -- I ask no other thing.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Sonnet: Take Thou My…
Take Thou my hands and use them as Thy own;
Thou knowest well their optimum usage;
And I might use them almost like a clown!
Abuse/ misuse them ’fore I reach old-age.
Take Thou my eyes and use them as Thy own,
So that they see just things they’re meant to see;
For I might see things, on which Thou couldst frown,
Or fail to see the things I must freely.
Take Thou my mind and use it as Thy own,
My ears and nose and tongue and skin as well;
My thoughts and actions should not let me down;
Let not my soul forever burn in Hell.
Take Thou my soul and use it as Thy own,
Before I sin and Thou must me disown!
6-8-2001
Dedicated to all Righteous and God-fearing
People of this world!
poem by John Celes
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From ‘The Soul’s Travelling’
God, God!
With a child’s voice I cry,
Weak, sad, confidingly—
God, God!
Thou knowest, eyelids, raised not always up
Unto Thy love (as none of ours are), droop
As ours, o’er many a tear!
Thou knowest, though Thy universe is broad,
Two little tears suffice to cover all:
Thou knowest, Thou, who art so prodigal
Of beauty, we are oft but stricken deer
Expiring in the woods—that care for none
Of those delightsome flowers they die upon.
O blissful Mouth which breathed the mournful breath
We name our souls, self-spoilt!—by that strong passion
Which paled Thee once with sighs,—by that strong death
Which made Thee once unbreathing—from the wrack
Themselves have called around them, call them back,
Back to Thee in continuous aspiration!
For here, O Lord,
For here they travel vainly,—vainly pass
From city-pavement to untrodden sward,
Where the lark finds her deep nest in the grass
Cold with the earth’s last dew. Yea, very vain
The greatest speed of all these souls of men
Unless they travel upward to the throne
Where sittest THOU, the satisfying ONE,
With help for sins and holy perfectings
For all requirements—while the archangel, raising
Unto Thy face his full ecstatic gazing,
Forgets the rush and rapture of his wings.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Bewildered for M lady Tara
Art thou as pure as driven snow?
As virginal as thou dost seem.
An angel walking here below
or art thou but a fleeting dream.
Thou seemest to me to be real
Thine image nightly haunting me.
Into my dreams thy face doth steal
and smiles on me bewitchingly
I know not who or what thou art
but must suppose thou knowest me
and cast thy spell to claim my heart
Which I would give thee willingly
mayhap thou art a fantasy
I conjure up unconsciously.
09/07/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Ch 08 On Rules For Conduct In Life - Admonition 02
Confide not to a friend every secret thou possessest. How knowest thou that he will not some time become thy foe? Inflict not every injury thou canst upon an enemy because it is possible that one day he may become thy friend.
Untitled 01
Tell me all that thou knowest, and I will thankfully hear it!
But wouldst thou give me thyself,-let me, my friend, be excused!
poem by Friedrich Schiller
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Child of a Day
Child of a day, thou knowest not
The tears that overflow thy urn,
The gushing eyes that read thy lot,
Nor, if thou knewest, couldst return!
And why the wish! the pure and blest
Watch like thy mother o'er thy sleep.
O peaceful night! O envied rest!
Thou wilt not ever see her weep.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Lines Written on the Eve of His Execution
Let them bestow on every airth a limb,
Then open all my veins, that I may swim
To thee, my Maker, in that crimson lake,
Then place my par boiled head upon a stake;
Scatter my ashes, strow them in the air.
Lord, since thou knowest where all these atoms are,
I'm hopeful thou'lt recover once my dust,
And confident thou'lt raise me with the just.
poem by James Graham
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Let them bestow on every airth a limb,
Let them bestow on every airth a limb,
Then open all my veins, that I may swim
To thee, my Maker, in that crimson lake,
Then place my par boiled head upon a stake;
Scatter my ashes, strow them in the air.
Lord, since thou knowest where all these atoms are,
I'm hopeful thou'lt recover once my dust,
And confident thou'lt raise me with the just.
poem by James Graham
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A Fragment
When she is forward, querulous, or wild,
Thou knowest, Abba, how in each offence
I stint not patience lest I wrong the child,
Mistaking for revolt defect of sense—
For wilfulness mere sprightliness of mind;
Thou knowest how often, seeing, I am blind.
• • • • • • • •
And how, when twice, for something grievous done,
I could but smite, and though I lightly smote,
I felt my heart rise strangling in my throat;
And when she wept I kissed the poor red hands.
All these things, Father, a father understands;
And am I not Thy son?
• • • • • • • •
Thou’st seen how closely, Abba, when at rest
My child’s head nestles to my breast;
And how my arm her little form enfolds,
Lest in the darkness she should feel alone;
And how she holds
My hands, my hands, my two hands in her own!
• • • • • • • •
A little easeful sighing
And restful turning round,
And I, too, on Thy love relying,
Shall slumber sound.
poem by Guy Wetmore Carryl from The Garden of Years and Other Poems (1893)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Ch 08 On Rules For Conduct In Life - Maxim 59
I had a wound under my robe and a sheikh asked me daily how, but not where it is, and I learned that he refrained because it is not admissible to mention every member; and wise men have also said that whoever does not ponder his question will be grieved by the answer.
Until thou knowest thy words to be perfectly suitable
Thou must not open thy mouth in speech.
If thou speakest truth and remainest in captivity,
It is better than that thy mendacity deliver thee therefrom.
Sonnet For the 14th of February
No popular respect will I omit
To do thee honor on this happy day,
When every loyal lover tasks his wit
His simple truth in studious rhymes to pay,
And to his mistress dear his hopes convey.
Rather thou knowest I would still outrun
All calendars with Love's,—whose date alway
Thy bright eyes govern better than the Sun,—
For with thy favor was my life begun;
And still I reckon on from smiles to smiles,
And not by summers, for I thrive on none
But those thy cheerful countenance complies:
Oh! if it be to choose and call thee mine,
Love, thou art every day my Valentine.
poem by Thomas Hood
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Ch 04 On The Advantages Of Silence Story 11
An astrologer, having entered his own house, saw a stranger and, getting angry, began to insult him, whereon both fell upon each other and fought so that turmoil and confusion ensued. A pious man who had the scene exclaimed:
‘How knowest thou what is in the zenith of the sky
If thou art not aware who is in thy house?’