En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Comparisons

CHILD, when they say that others
Have been or are like you,
Babes fit to be your brothers,
Sweet human drops of dew,
Bright fruit of mortal mothers,
What should one say or do?

We know the thought is treason,
We feel the dream absurd;
A claim rebuked of reason,
That withers at a word:
For never shone the season
That bore so blithe a bird.

Some smiles may seem as merry,
Some glances gleam as wise,
From lips as like a cherry
And scarce less gracious eyes;
Eyes browner than a berry,
Lips red as morning's rise.

But never yet rang laughter
So sweet in gladdened ears
Through wall and floor and rafter
As all this household hears
And rings response thereafter
Till cloudiest weather clears.

When those your chosen of all men,
Whose honey never cloys,
Two lights whose smiles enthrall men,
Were called at your age boys,
Those mighty men, while small men,
Could make no merrier noise.

Our Shakespeare, surely, daffed not
More lightly pain aside
From radiant lips that quaffed not
Of forethought's tragic tide:
Our Dickens, doubtless, laughed not
More loud with life's first pride.

The dawn were not more cheerless
With neither light nor dew
Than we without the fearless
Clear laugh that thrills us through:
If ever child stood peerless,
Love knows that child is you.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Child's Laughter

ALL the bells of heaven may ring,
All the birds of heaven may sing,
All the wells on earth may spring,
All the winds on earth may bring
All sweet sounds together---
Sweeter far than all things heard,
Hand of harper, tone of bird,
Sound of woods at sundawn stirred,
Welling water's winsome word,
Wind in warm wan weather,

One thing yet there is, that none
Hearing ere its chime be done
Knows not well the sweetest one
Heard of man beneath the sun,
Hoped in heaven hereafter;
Soft and strong and loud and light,
Very sound of very light
Heard from morning's rosiest height,
When the soul of all delight
Fills a child's clear laughter.

Golden bells of welcome rolled
Never forth such notes, nor told
Hours so blithe in tones so bold,
As the radiant mouth of gold
Here that rings forth heaven.
If the golden-crested wren
Were a nightingale---why, then,
Something seen and heard of men
Might be half as sweet as when
Laughs a child of seven.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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I Would Do For You

The Mother looks into the eyes of her child,
With the love that is so deep and true
Then she hugs her child and loves her child,
And says, “ there is nothing that I would not do for you”.
She loves her child more than she does herself
She’ll places her child above all others
For the child she would die, And not even ask why,
As the child is hers, and she is the mother.
She knows she’ll will always be there for her child
No matter the pain or a reason why,
Just to see it smile or hear it laugh
It is the greatest joy that a mother wont hide.
She will follow her child throughout her life
That being the reason why she says she lives
The love is so great for a mother and her child,
That there is nothing that she would not do or give.
She thinks of her child constantly when she is alone
She knows no pain or discomfort when the child is near,
She is only here to make her child happy and wise
While hoping never to bring her child a tear.
I now look into the eyes of my wife,
The woman who I love with a love so deep and true,
As a mother loves her child, a man he loves his wife
And with her in mind I say, “ there is nothing that I wouldn't do for you”.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Quieta Ne Movete II

IF one should wake one's frozen faith
In sunlight of her radiant eyes,
Bid it forget its dream of death,
In this new dream of Paradise,
Bid it forget the long, slow pain,
The agony when, all in vain,
It fought for life, and how one swore,
Once cold, it should not waken more;

If hope one buried long ago
Should thrill beneath those smiles of hers,
Should in one's sere life stir and grow,
As in brown woods the young spring stirs;
If, breaking icy bonds of grief,
One's soul should start to bud and leaf,
It might forget in that springtide
How last year's leaves fell off and died.

If from warm faith and hope set high
A lovely living child was born,
With lips more pure than starlit sky,
And eyes as clear as summer morn,
Child-love might grow till one forgot
Old love, that was and now is not--
Forgot that far-off time of tears,
And all these desolated years.

And yet of faith, hope, love, one knows
So well what end the years will make,
If one should dig beneath Time's snows
And wake them now for her sweet sake.
New life may mean new joy; but then,
What lives again may die again,
And to that second death there may
Be no new resurrection-day.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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If I were dead

'IF I were dead, you'd sometimes say, Poor Child!'
The dear lips quiver'd as they spake,
And the tears brake
From eyes which, not to grieve me, brightly smiled.
Poor Child, poor Child!
I seem to hear your laugh, your talk, your song.
It is not true that Love will do no wrong.
Poor Child!
And did you think, when you so cried and smiled,
How I, in lonely nights, should lie awake,
And of those words your full avengers make?
Poor Child, poor Child!
And now, unless it be
That sweet amends thrice told are come to thee,
O God, have Thou no mercy upon me!
Poor Child!

poem by Coventry Patmore
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The Kiss

Lips' language to lips' ears.
Two drinking each other's heart, it seems.
Two roving loves who have left home,
pilgrims to the confluence of lips.
Two waves rise by the law of love
to break and die on two sets of lips.
Two wild desires craving each other
meet at last at the body's limits.
Love's writing a song in dainty letters,
layers of kiss-calligraphy on lips.
Plucking flowers from two sets of lips
perhaps to thread them into a chain later.
This sweet union of lips
is the red marriage-bed of a pair of smiles.

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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The Lost Children

Down the hall their voices ring, their feet are on the run
Phantoms on the winter sky, together they do come
Faded lips and eyes of blue theyre carried in the wind
Their laughter filled the countryside but theyll not laugh again
All the games are ended now, their voices have been stilled
Their fathers built the tools of war by which they all were killed
Their fathers made the uniforms showing which side they were on
And the young boys wear the middle name for guns to pray upon
Youve seen the fires in the night, watched the devil as he smiles
Youve heard a mothers mournful cry as she searches for her child
Youve seen the lines of refugees, the faces of despair
And wondered at the wise men who never seem to care
Goodbye you lost children, God speed you on your way
Your little beds are empty now, your toys are put away
Your mother sings a lullaby as she gazes at the floor
Your father builds more weapons and marches out once more
Down the hall their voices ring, their feet are on the run
Phantoms on the winter sky, together they do come
Faded lips and eyes of blue theyre carried in the wind
Their laughter filled the countryside but theyll not laugh again

song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Giacinta

Giacinta sat upon the garden wall
Among the autumn lilies, and let fall
Their crimson petals on her lover's head,
And laughed because her little hands were red.
She was the fairest child of Italy,
And it was well the lilies thus should die.

But Giulio shuddered when she made him kiss
The stains away in her pride's wantonness
And held them up between him and the sun
That he might see the red blood flame and run
In the long finger--clefts from root to tip,
And still she pressed them closer to his lip,
And still she laughed. But Giulio looked at her
And it was half in love and half in fear.

And, when she saw him tremble, childishly
She laid both hands in his, and with a sigh
Told him to pity them. And he in vain
Hid them in his and would have hid his pain,
And tried to speak but could not for the weight
Upon his breast. And so the lovers sat
In a hard silence, while Giacinta's laugh
Rang in his ears like the discordant half
Of some fair carol from a tavern flung,
She watching him above, the flowers among,
First with her smile and then with a hurt pride
Kindling to wrath. And ``Fool'' at last she cried,
``You think because this hand of mine is white
And smooth to touch and wise in love's delight
It had not dared to dabble in such red,
The blood--of these dead flowers--for dead is dead;
And you sit dumb and tremble and turn pale
Because I laugh to see the lilies fall.
Why not laugh with me, since you have the heart
To say you love me in my tragic part?
Think you that blood can make a hand less white,
Or all the ink of heaven blot out to--night
The innocent stars, or kisses steal away
The sweetness of red lips, or memory
Drive laughter from the world? The moon grows wan
And wastes and fades and shrivels to a span,
Yet men watch on beyond the hills at even,
And lo there is a new moon in the heaven!
Look in my eyes. Are they less pure and keen
For all the passion which their depths have seen?
Is there a stain upon my brows? My cheek
Is it less fair for what it dares not speak?
Oh, Simon's blood was not so red a thing
But it has left my face its colouring.
Or think you drops from any vein of his
Could make my fingers blush as deep as this?''

And Giulio's courage sickened when he heard
Giacinta suddenly speak out this word.
She was the fairest child of Italy,
But Giulio thought it had been well to die.

``yet, had it left me pale,'' she said, ``I know
It had been all as one to Giulio
To love a pale face. You will love me yet
Though I have told you how my hands are wet,
And when I hold them out to you to kiss
Your lips will burn to drink away the lees.
Oh, lovers, lovers! Wherefore will you preach,
When women laugh at what you dare to teach
Of truth and honour? Is there one of you,
One honourable friend, one bosom true,
That will not sell his virtue for a kiss
Though the mouth that gave it were a nest of lies,
And will not soothe his soul with the deceit
Which swears a rose is not a whit less sweet
Because an angry bee was in its cell
An hour ago?--Oh, lovers reason well!
So take the flower and deign forget the bee.
But Giulio, do not bid me stop and see
How beautiful a thing your virtue is,
And do not cry to the unheeding skies
`Did I not love her?' See, I hate your love
More than I hate yourself.'' And Giulio strove
With his weak heart and could not bear the pain.
And so he took Giacinta's hand again,
Without more word. But she in softened mood
Looked on the boy her beauty had subdued,
And said ``Poor Giulio! I have never shown
Much hate to you, and this you needs must own,
Only beware of loving me. 'Tis strange
That men are wise, yet cannot take the range
Of a silly woman's mind, but still devise
Of their fool's love, as if it were the prize
For which a woman might forget the cost
Of her undoing and a world well lost,
And cannot see that love is only this,
A pretty word to whisper in a kiss,
As when one says, `God bless you' with `Good--night.'
But Giulio, who would ever suffer it
A man should always have the name of God
Upon his lips?'' Her lover only trod
The lilies with his heel. At last he sighed,
``And Simon loved you, and for this he died?''

They sat till dusk upon the garden wall,
And she began to sing a madrigal
About the falling leaves and quite forgot
To answer him. But Giulio heeded not
Because he held her hand. He could not flee.
She was the fairest child of Italy.

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where Is The Child?

love is blind,
life is wild,
death is wide,
where is the child?
hatred everywhere,
badness fills the air,
life is so unfair,
where is the child?
no one is funny,
bees make no honey,
everyone is running after money,
where is the child?
hearing no good voice,
there is much noise,
by a freaky gang of boys,
where is the child?
no one is having a good dream,
everyone wants to scream,
there is no more white cream,
where is the child?
purity is gone,
children have no fun,
badness is now in everyone,
where is the child?
there is no more respectable art,
no real love in any heart,
sadness in every part,
where is the child?
where is the child?
where is the child?

poem by Sarah Abu Zeid
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She Is Not Mine

The dog walked down the street
Where her eyes were languid above him,
Suckling child-
And I cried, my eyes really moped,
Because the child was not mine,
And even more beautiful because the child was
Not mine;
Of needing lips not mine;
And I watched her leave for buses home-
And they were not mine;
All I had to do was lie in bed and jack off,
While the souls of tin birds crenulated against
The upstairs porch with the broken-down
Jacuzzi that molded and grew with the ululations
Of tadpoles and unfortunate princes, puckering undiademed:
And I wanted her lips, and ping-pong-
And the shadows stretched throughout the weeping
Hallways of the school,
The smoked out bathrooms,
The unicorns in the soccer field, the cherry red
Keyed cars;
She was standing out there vacillating like a fever dream
Like tapped crystal with something sweet inside;
And I do this because of my stuttering scars,
And because she is there hanging over me like grapes
I cannot reach- I cannot reach because the words are
Not yet mine-
And she is sitting straight in front of me. Sometimes
She turns around and smiles- smiles,
But I can’t really understand-
and the buses leave, and the schools
Leaves- the cormorants leave-
The esplanade remains green and open even as winter
Tiptoes under this women’s opalescent throat:
Like a fish suffocating in his hands, fat-bellied, the children
Like roe dripping out from behind….
Like precious gems
And she is not mine.

poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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At the Stage Door

Kicking my heels in the street,
Here at the edge of the pavement I wait for you, sweet,
Here in the crowd, the blent noises, blurred lights, of the street.

Under the archway sheer,
Sudden and black as a hole in the placarded wall,
Faces flicker and veer,
Wavering out of the darkness into the light,
Wavering back into night;
Under the archway, suddenly seen, the curls
And thin, bright faces of girls,
Roving eyes, and smiling lips, and the glance
Seeking, finding perchance,
Here at the edge of the pavement, there by the wall,
One face, out of them all.

Steadily, face after face,
Cheeks with the blush of the paint yet lingering, eyes
Still with their circle of black ...
But hers, but hers?
Rose-leaf cheeks, and flower-soft lips, and the grace
Of the vanishing Spring come back,
And a child's heart blithe in the sudden and sweet surprise,
Subtly expectant, that stirs
In the smile of her heart to my heart, of her eyes to my eyes

poem by Arthur Symons
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Truth Smiles In Child!

What an eternal pair they are,
God and Nature, positive and negative,
God revolving freely around nature,
Smiles at Nature,
And Nature smiles at God,
Smile makes one beautiful and they fell in love of beauty in one another!

Just like parents smile AT the kid,
Nature says to God,
'See, This child is your Creation,
you are its father,
take care of it '

God smiles and says, 'Its your child,
take care of this,
And this is your child '

Child smiles innocently at both,
Nature Smile at child and says,
I am your mother, He is your father,
When child smiles at father,
father's heart too jumps and smiles,
Father sees its beloved Nature,
And Nature sees her Beloved God in the smile of the child!

In the child both smile together, seeing at one another!

Matter smiles at energy and energy smiles at matter,
and in the child both smile together,

But in their love and smile,
Truth smiles,
eyes of both God, Nature shine at the smile of the Child,
Never both able to see the silent smile of Truth,
It says within child, it's soliliquoy goes unheard,

' I am that,
Smiled in you,
I am the creator of both,
But God and Nature Never able to see me,
Only seeing me as their child,
I smile At them,
that I kept my identity,
Hidden safe in You '

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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A Poem For Aniqa

What indeed is your patrimony
My sweet child, Aniqa!
A few 'ghazal' compositions, a handful of
poems
Which are but treasures
Of broken hearts, given for safekeeping
To your dad?

These are tales
Of days bygone
Lived before your time
Narratives written in blood
Prophecies of better seasons to come!

Somewhere, if at all
You suffer under the tyranny
Of moments sad and forlorn
Must read these poems, my child
For, I'm sure
They will reveal
My philosophy of sorrow and happiness

A moment, indeed
My sweet child, Aniqa
And your eyes
Will bloom forth in roses of tears
Your lips
Will soften with dreamlike smiles.

poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Sweet Child O Mine

Hes got a smile that it seems to me
Reminds me of childhood memories
Where everything
Was as fresh as the bright blue sky
Now and then when I see his face
He takes me away to that special place
And if I stared too long
Id probably break down and cry
Sweet child o mine
Sweet love of mine
Hes got eyes of the bluest skies
As if they thought of rain
I hate to look into those eyes
And see an ounce of pain
His hair reminds me
Of a warm safe place
Where as a child Id hide
And pray for the thunder
And the rain
To quietly pass me by
Sweet child o mine
Sweet love of mine
Where do we go
Where do we go now
Where do we go
Sweet child o mine

song performed by by Sheryl Crow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Give Me A Kiss

Baby just one sweet kiss,
Honey from your sweet lips
Baby just one sweet kiss,
Honey from your sweet lips
That's all i want, that's all i need
I'm satisfied
Baby just one of your smiles
You know makes it all worthwhile
Baby just one of your smiles
You know makes it all worthwhile
We could go walking down the lane
Together hand in hand
But if you think
That it's gonna rain
We'll stay at home
And listen to the band
Baby just one sweet kiss
Honey from your sweet lips
Baby just one of your smiles
You know makes it all worthwhile
That's all i want, that's all i need
I'm satisfied.

song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winds Of March

I covered you with roses
Like the stars at night
I covered you with love
Like a blanket on a cold winters night
I covered you with joy
To make your lifetime bog and bright
You touched me with your eyes
Soft as an evening breeze
You held me in your arms
As the winds rushed through the trees
You are my child
You make my lifetime big and bright
You are my child
You came like the winds of march
With all the love in your eyes
You are my child
You came like the morning lights
With all your love, in your eyes
You are my child
You came like the morning light
With all your love, in your eyes

song performed by by Journey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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John Day: XIII

DAY was a full-blown flower in heaven, alive
With murmuring joy of bees and birds aswarm,
When in the skies of song yet flushed and warm
With music where all passion seems to strive
For utterance, all things bright and fierce to drive
Struggling along the splendour of the storm,
Day for an hour put off his fiery form,
And golden murmurs from a golden hive
Across the strong bright summer wind were heard,
And laughter soft as smiles from girls at play
And loud from lips of boys brow-bound with May.
Our mightiest age let fall its gentlest word,
When Song, in semblance of a sweet small bird,
Lit fluttering on the light swift hand of Day.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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A Poet's Wooing

I woo'd a woman once,
But she was sharper than an eastern wind.
Tennyson

"What may I do to make you glad,
To make you glad and free,
Till your light smiles glance
And your bright eyes dance
Like sunbeams on the sea?
Read some rhyme that is blithe and gay
Of a bright May morn and a marriage day?"
And she sighed in a listless way she had,--
"Do not read--it will make me sad!"

"What shall I do to make you glad--
To make you glad and gay,
Till your eyes gleam bright
As the stars at night
When as light as the light of day
Sing some song as I twang the strings
Of my sweet guitar through its wanderings?"
And she sighed in the weary way she had,--
"Do not sing--it will make me sad!"

"What can I do to make you glad--
As glad as glad can be,
Till your clear eyes seem
Like the rays that gleam
And glint through a dew-decked tree?--
Will it please you, dear, that I now begin
A grand old air on my violin?"
And she spoke again in the following way,--
"Yes, oh yes, it would please me, sir;
I would be so glad you'd play
Some grand old march--in character,--
And then as you march away
I will no longer thus be sad,
But oh, so glad--so glad--so glad!"

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Kisses

You've kissed a hundred girls by now
and never found the one
whose kisses taste like cherry wine
and warm you like the sun.

But when it is you touch my lips
and brush them soft and sweet,
You'll lay your life before me
and feel like you're complete.

For I, my love have saved my lips,
saved them just for you.
And now that you have felt them
there's nothing you can do.

You can't go back to other's lips.
They would not feel the same.
The bitter taste they'd leave you with
would have you then exclaim.

'I need your lips. I long for them
and how they make me feel.'
So when you place your lips on mine
you'll know our love is real.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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A Laugh -- And A Moan

The brook that down the valley
So musically drips,
Flowed never half so brightly
As the light laugh from her lips.

Her face was like the lily,
Her heart was like the rose,
Her eyes were like a heaven
Where the sunlight always glows.

She trod the earth so lightly
Her feet touched not a thorn;
Her words wore all the brightness
Of a young life's happy morn.

Along her laughter rippled
The melody of joy;
She drank from every chalice,
And tasted no alloy.

Her life was all a laughter,
Her days were all a smile,
Her heart was pure and happy,
She knew not gloom nor guile.

She rested on the bosom
Of her mother, like a flower
That blooms far in a valley
Where no storm-clouds ever lower.

And -- 'Merry, merry, merry!'
Rang the bells of every hour,
And -- 'Happy, happy, happy!'
In her valley laughed the flower.

There was not a sign of shadow,
There was not a tear nor thorn,
And the sweet voice of her laughter
Filled with melody the morn.

* * * * *

Years passed -- 'twas long, long after,
And I saw a face at prayer;
There was not a sign of laughter,
There was every sign of care.

For the sunshine all had faded
From the valley and the flower,
And the once fair face was shaded
In life's lonely evening hour.

And the lips that smiled with laughter
In the valley of the morn,
In the valley of the evening
They were pale and sorrow-worn.

And I read the old, old lesson
In her face and in her tears,
While she sighed amid the shadows
Of the sunset of her years.

All the rippling streams of laughter
From our hearts and lips that flow,
Shall be frozen, cold years after,
Into icicles of woe.

poem by Abram Joseph Ryan
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A Cradle Song

Sweet dreams, form a shade
O’er my lovely infant’s head;
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams.

Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown.
Sweet Sleep, Angel mild,
Hover o’er my happy child.

Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight;
Sweet smiles, mother’s smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.

Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes.
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.

Sleep, sleep, happy child,
All creation slept and smil'd;
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o’er thee thy mother weep.

Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace.
Sweet babe, once like thee,
Thy Maker lay and wept for me,

Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee

Smiles on thee, on me, on all;
Who became an infant small.
Infant smiles are His own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.

poem by William Blake from Songs of Innocence (1789)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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