En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A Vote (excerpt)

...
This only grant me: that my means may lie
Too low for envy, for contempt too high.
Some honour I would have,
Not from great deeds, but good alone;
Th' ignote are better than ill-known,
Rumour can ope the grave.
Acquaintance I would hug, but when 't depends
Not from the number, but the choice of friends.

Books should, not bus'ness, entertain the light,
And sleep, as undisturb'd as death, the night.
My house a cottage, more
Than palace, and should fitting be
For all my use, no luxury.
My garden painted o'er
With Nature's hand, not Art's, and pleasures yield
Horace might envy in his Sabine field.

Thus would I double my life's fading space,
For he that runs it well, twice runs his race.
And in this true delight,
These unbought sports and happy state
I would not fear, nor wish my fate,
But boldly say each night,
To-morrow let my sun his beams display,
Or in clouds hide them; I have liv'd to-day.

poem by Abraham Cowley
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I would not fear nor wish my fate, but boldly say each night, tomorrow let my sun his beams display, or in clouds hide them; I have lived today.

quote by Abraham Crowley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This only grant me, that my means may lie too low for envy, for contempt too high.

quote by Abraham Cowley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Epitaph upon Husband and Wife Who died and were buried together

TO these whom death again did wed
This grave 's the second marriage-bed.
For though the hand of Fate could force
'Twixt soul and body a divorce,
It could not sever man and wife,
Because they both lived but one life.
Peace, good reader, do not weep;
Peace, the lovers are asleep.
They, sweet turtles, folded lie
In the last knot that love could tie.
Let them sleep, let them sleep on,
Till the stormy night be gone,
And the eternal morrow dawn;
Then the curtains will be drawn,
And they wake into a light
Whose day shall never die in night.

TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind,
   That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
   To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,
   The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
   A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
   As thou too shalt adore;
I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
   Loved I not Honour more.

poem by Richard Crashaw
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The Village Green

ON the cheerful village green,
Skirted round with houses small,
All the boys and girls are seen,
Playing there with hoop and ball.

Now they frolic hand in hand,
Making many a merry chain;
Then they form a warlike band,
Marching o'er the level plain.

Now ascends the worsted ball,
High it rises in the air,
Or against the cottage wall,
Up and down it bounces there.

Then the hoop, with even pace,
Runs before the merry throngs;
Joy is seen in every face,
Joy is heard in cheerful songs.

Rich array, and mansions proud,
Gilded toys, and costly fare,
Would not make the little crowd
Half so happy as they are.

Then, contented with my state,
Where true pleasure may be seen,
Let me envy not the great,
On a cheerful village green.

poem by Ann Taylor
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The Village Green

On the cheerful village green,
Skirted round with houses small,
All the boys and girls are seen,
Playing there with hoop and ball.

Now they frolic hand in hand,
Making many a merry chain;
Then they form a warlike band,
Marching o'er the level plain.

Now ascends the worsted ball,
High it rises in the air,
Or against the cottage wall,
Up and down it bounces there.

Then the hoop, with even pace,
Runs before the merry throngs;
Joy is seen in every face,
Joy is heard in cheerful songs.

Rich array, and mansions proud,
Gilded toys, and costly fare,
Would not make the little crowd
Half so happy as they are.

Then, contented with my state,
Where true pleasure may be seen,
Let me envy not the great,
On a cheerful village green.

poem by Jane Taylor
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I envy Seas, whereon He rides

498

I envy Seas, whereon He rides—
I envy Spokes of Wheels
Of Chariots, that Him convey—
I envy Crooked Hills

That gaze upon His journey—
How easy All can see
What is forbidden utterly
As Heaven—unto me!

I envy Nests of Sparrows—
That dot His distant Eaves—
The wealthy Fly, upon His Pane—
The happy—happy Leaves—

That just abroad His Window
Have Summer's leave to play—
The Ear Rings of Pizarro
Could not obtain for me—

I envy Light—that wakes Him—
And Bells—that boldly ring
To tell Him it is Noon, abroad—
Myself—be Noon to Him—

Yet interdict—my Blossom—
And abrogate—my Bee—
Lest Noon in Everlasting Night—
Drop Gabriel—and Me—

poem by Emily Dickinson
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An Epitaph upon Husband and Wife

TO these whom death again did wed
This grave 's the second marriage-bed.
For though the hand of Fate could force
'Twixt soul and body a divorce,
It could not sever man and wife,
Because they both lived but one life.
Peace, good reader, do not weep;
Peace, the lovers are asleep.
They, sweet turtles, folded lie
In the last knot that love could tie.
Let them sleep, let them sleep on,
Till the stormy night be gone,
And the eternal morrow dawn;
Then the curtains will be drawn,
And they wake into a light
Whose day shall never die in night.

poem by Richard Crashaw
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Run Crying Into The Night

Addictions in the home, parents fight

A child runs crying into the night

Hand over her mouth, he's there to rape

Woman runs crying into the night

Bullets are flying, kids are dying

Mothers run crying into the night

Bombs are dropping, houses exploding

People run crying into the night

The world turns evil, fear is building

Vicki runs crying into the night

poem by Victoria Dame
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In Praise Of Contentment

(HORACE'S ODES, III, I)

I hate the common, vulgar herd!
Away they scamper when I 'booh' 'em!
But pretty girls and nice young men
Observe a proper silence when
I chose to sing my lyrics to 'em.

The kings of earth, whose fleeting pow'r
Excites our homage and our wonder,
Are precious small beside old Jove,
The father of us all, who drove
The giants out of sight, by thunder!

This man loves farming, that man law,
While this one follows pathways martial--
What moots it whither mortals turn?
Grim fate from her mysterious urn
Doles out the lots with hand impartial.

Nor sumptuous feasts nor studied sports
Delight the heart by care tormented;
The mightiest monarch knoweth not
The peace that to the lowly cot
Sleep bringeth to the swain contented.

On him untouched of discontent
Care sits as lightly as a feather;
He doesn't growl about the crops,
Or worry when the market drops,
Or fret about the changeful weather.

Not so with him who, rich in fact,
Still seeks his fortune to redouble;
Though dig he deep or build he high,
Those scourges twain shall lurk anigh--
Relentless Care, relentless Trouble!

If neither palaces nor robes
Nor unguents nor expensive toddy
Insure Contentment's soothing bliss,
Why should I build an edifice
Where Envy comes to fret a body?

Nay, I'd not share your sumptuous cheer,
But rather sup my rustic pottage,
While that sweet boon the gods bestow--
The peace your mansions cannot know--
Blesseth my lowly Sabine cottage.

poem by Eugene Field
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The Wish

WELL then! I now do plainly see
   This busy world and I shall ne'er agree.
The very honey of all earthly joy
Does of all meats the soonest cloy;
   And they, methinks, deserve my pity
Who for it can endure the stings,
The crowd and buzz and murmurings,
   Of this great hive, the city.

Ah, yet, ere I descend to the grave
May I a small house and large garden have;
And a few friends, and many books, both true,
Both wise, and both delightful too!
   And since love ne'er will from me flee,
A Mistress moderately fair,
And good as guardian angels are,
   Only beloved and loving me.

O fountains! when in you shall I
Myself eased of unpeaceful thoughts espy?
O fields! O woods! when, when shall I be made
Thy happy tenant of your shade?
   Here 's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood:
Here 's wealthy Nature's treasury,
Where all the riches lie that she
   Has coin'd and stamp'd for good.

Pride and ambition here
Only in far-fetch'd metaphors appear;
Here nought but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter,
And nought but Echo flatter.
   The gods, when they descended, hither
From heaven did always choose their way:
And therefore we may boldly say
   That 'tis the way too thither.

Hoe happy here should I
And one dear She live, and embracing die!
She who is all the world, and can exclude
In deserts solitude.
   I should have then this only fear:
Lest men, when they my pleasures see,
Should hither throng to live like me,
   And so make a city here.

poem by Abraham Cowley
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A Stream’s Singing

O HOW beautiful is Morning!
How the sunbeams strike the daisies,
And the kingcups fill the meadow
Like a golden-shielded army
Marching to the uplands fair;--
I am going forth to battle,
And life's uplands rise before me,
And my golden shield is ready,
And I pause a moment, timing
My heart's pæan to the waters,
As with cheerful song incessant
Onwards runs the little stream;
Singing ever, onward ever,
Boldly runs the merry stream.

O how glorious is Noon-day!
With the cool large shadows lying
Underneath the giant forest,
The far hill-tops towering dimly
O'er the conquered plains below;--
I am conquering--I shall conquer
In life's battle-field impetuous:
And I lie and listen dreamy
To a double-voiced, low music,--
Tender beech-trees sheeny shiver
Mingled with the diapason
Of the strong, deep, joyful stream,
Like a man's love and a woman's;
So it runs--the happy stream!

O how grandly cometh Even,
Sitting on the mountain summit,
Purple-vestured, grave, and silent,
Watching o'er the dewy valleys,
Like a good king near his end:--
I have labored, I have governed;
Now I feel the gathering shadows
Of the night that closes all things:
And the fair earth fades before me,
And the stars leap out in heaven,
While into the infinite darkness
Solemn runs the steadfast stream--
Onward, onward, ceaseless, fearless,
Singing runs the eternal stream.

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Night and Day

I painted a picture of the day
Nature in her sweet tranquil
Her beauty was dazzling in every way
By her sun upon the hill!

I made her grasses the color green
Blue the color of the sea
In pink and red her flowers sheen
In brown, her rocks sit solitary

I painted a picture of the night
But nature has lost her spark
I colored her beauty in black and white
What glory is there in the dark?

I made her sky with dotted light
Of stars in their endless space
But there was no color to make her bright
But the moon with her golden face

I placed both pictures side by side
Media of dark and light
The night to nature, a time to hide
The day her sweet delight

Were i to vote between these two
I will give all to the day
I will paint in her a perfect view
I will have her all the way!

But wait! There is more than meet the eyes
For things are not all we see
For all stuffs are made of good and ills
Beyond our phylosophy

The day i painted with color bright
Is marred with worries and woes
And just a covering with colors and light
Of all beneath her throes.

Now, the night in her dreaded sight
When half the world is asleep
Is an illusion, a passage of day to night
Whereon i sleep free and deep

Free from all worldly pain indeed
That by day plagued every soul
And away from mortals lust and greed
Is a man's life long goal

I cannot choose one, the other bid farewell
In both, all things are one
So i kept the day, and the night as well
For both made me a man! !

poem by Okonkwo Osamedua. Allen
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I DON'T ENVY WOMEN 2...by talile ali

I DON'T ENVY WOMEN
NO I DON'T
THE STUFF THEY HAVE TO GO THRU

I DON'T ENVY WOMEN
NO I DON'T
HOW COULD REALITY BE SO CRUEL

I GOT A FRIEND
CUTE AS HELL
I'LL LOVE HER TILL THE BITTER END

BEEN RAPED SO MUCH
LOOKED TO GOOD TO TOUCH
MESSED UP PRICE FOR A PRETTY FACE, MY FRIEND

I DON'T ENVY WOMEN
NO I DON'T
THE SHIT THEY HAVE TO GO THRU HURTS SO MUCH

I DON'T ENVY WOMEN
NO I DON'T
HOW COULD REALITY BE SO CRUEL AND TRUE

I HAVE ANOTHER FRIEND
ALL OVER THE PLACE
AS IF SHE LOST HER MIND

WITH HEAVY FLOWS
AND HORMONE WOES
IT'S A MIRACLE SHE'S NOT DYIN

I DON'T ENVY WOMEN
NO I DON'T
THE STUFF THEY GO THRU BECAUSE WE JUST DON'T

I DON'T ENVY WOMEN
NO I DON'T
THE BRAINLESS CRUELTY JUST SIMPLY WON'T

THESE GIRLS I KNOW
THEY ALL OWN MY HEART
TO KNOW SUCH GREAT DESPAIR IS BEYOND JUST FAIR

NEVER KNOWING
A MOMENTS PEACE
AND UNTROUBLED LOVE THAT THEY CAN NEVER SHARE

I DON'T ENVY WOMEN
NO I DON'T
THE STUFF THEY ALL HAVE TO GO THRU

I DON'T ENVY WOMEN
NO I DON'T
HOW COULD THEIR LIFE BE SO CRUEL

poem by Talile Ali
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Sonnet: Envy

In human hearts, the fire of Envy burns,
All night and day, since birth until one’s death!
No matter what lessons the mind still learns,
The eyes of Envy stay green till last breath.

Why should Envy occupy the heart’s core?
Does God not give talents to all the men?
To everyone, He opens a new door!
Just sinless labor will earn him Heaven.

But not all men are made of same substance;
Yet, plenty can be done in any field;
One’s toil’s outweighed by environment and chance;
To suppress others, powers never wield!

The poison, Envy devours any heart,
And spells chaos and doom for any art.

poem by John Celes
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The Bushman

When the merchant lies down, he can scarce go to sleep
For thinking of his merchandise upon the fatal deep;
His ships may be cast away or taken in a war,
So him alone we'll envy not, who true bushmen are.

Who true bushmen are,
So him alone we'll envy not, who true bushmen are!

When the soldier lies down, his mind is full of thought
O'er seeking that promotion which so long he has sought;
He fain would gain repose for mortal wound or scar,
So him also we'll envy not, who true bushmen are.

When the sailor lies down, his mind he must prepare
To rouse out in a minute if the wind should prove unfair.
His voyage may be stopped for the want of a spar,
So him also we'll envy not, who true bushmen are.

When the bushman lies down, his mind is free from care,
He knows his stock will furnish him with meat, wear and tear.
Should all commerce be ended in the event of a war,
Then bread and beef won't fail us boys, who true bushmen are.

Then fill, fill your glasses, a toast I'll give you, then,
To you who call yourselves true-hearted men.
Here's a health to the soldier and e'en the jolly tar,
And may they always meet as good friends as we bushmen are.

Who true bushmen are,
And may they always meet as good friends as we bushmen are.

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Light is out, Black is in

The light is getting dark
the clouds are turning gray
but i'll be ok

The day turns to night
and it's not going to change
So i'll walk through the streets
to see myself in a different light

The dark catches up and i'm covered
with death and dark
the dark is my new best friend
Through the dark i can control death

Through my death i can see my life
the life that was, is and could have been
with my new found friend comes
the choice of life or death

The dark is good it's new
the light was bad it's old
through the dark new choices arrive
with the light nothing was to choose

The dark is getting darker
but is that good or bad
cause it means death is for sure
I want the light back
I want to see myself not a stranger

poem by Jess Jayne
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Dedication : To The Memory Of Cecil Spring-Rice

STEADFAST as any soldier of the line
He served his England, with the imminent death
Poised at his heart. Nor could the world divine
The constant peril of each burdened breath.

England, and the honour of England, he still served
Walking the strict path, with the old high pride
Of those invincible knights who never swerved
One hair's breadth from the way until they died.

Quietness he loved, and books, and the grave beauty
Of England's Helicon, whose eternal light
Shines like a lantern on that road of duty,
Discerned by few in this chaotic night;

And his own pen, foretelling his release,
Told us that he foreknew ' the end was peace.'

II.

Soldier of England, he shall live unsleeping
Among his friends, with the old proud flag above;
For even to-day her honour is in his keeping,
He has joined the hosts that guard her with their love.

They shine like stars, unnumbered happy legions,
In that high realm where all our darkness dies.
He moves with honour, in those loftier regions,
Above this ' world of passion and of lies ';

For so he called it, keeping his own pure passion
A silent flame before the true and good;
Not fawning on the throng in this world's fashion
To come and see what all might see who would.

Soldier of England, perfect, gentle knight,
The soul of Sidney welcomes you to-night.

poem by Alfred Noyes
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Butterfly

On a horrid summer's day I seclude myself away,
Only to be drawn out to the light by nature at play,
Butterfly oh Butterfly carelessly fluttering by,
Your elegant dance entrances the innocence in me,
Butterfly oh Butterfly know that you spur great envy,
You are so very beautiful careless peaceful and sweet,
Your life is simple yet no different to the one I lead,
You are but a pattern in a endless chaotic sea,
Your pace of life seems slow yet you achieve as much as me,
You know life's meaning is less if it's not wholly free,
Butterfly oh Butterfly although you spur great envy,
I know that if you could you would envy the life I lead.

poem by Christian Lacdael
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The night runs in fear of the dreamer

The night runs in fear of the dreamer
The night runs in fear of the dreamer
As for he there is no night.
For even though there is darkness in abundance
He only need close his eyes to see there is light.
God deems all darkness be made light!
Such is why ebony skies are singularly bright
Brightly, dotted; with orbs so bright.
For the dreamers hope, is a candle wick?
That stretches from here to eternity…
All he but do is ignite its vaporous spirit.
And, be guided by its flickering fight…
For he that adjourns in his own shadow
Will have nowhere to go, when he spurns
What the daylight; can no longer anymore follow.
God made a scented garden and gave all men
Their seven senses to follow in this his trail.
So that even if one or more senses be lost
The spirit of the lamb would still be
Guided by gods external; light within.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Living Choice

Its deep in heart that felt repeatedly
about a being in time and space
that follow the laws of nature
Betwixt the stimulus and response
a space and time that can defy the nature and destiny
defines the state of being
in the form of choice

Choice lies before us at every moment in life
to chart the direction of life
Else the chance will takeover the course
subordinating to the flow of nature

With choice in your hand
begin the passion to reach the destiny
Raise the motivation to be better
Unleash the talents required
That take the life towards evolution
pushing the human race ahead of the present existence

poem by Prakash Rao Sunchu
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