En.Citatepedia^®.ro

On Lamb’s Specimens of Dramatic Poets: Sonnets

I.

IF ALL the flowers of all the fields on earth
By wonder-working summer were made one,
Its fragrance were not sweeter in the sun,
Its treasure-house of leaves were not more worth
Than those wherefrom thy light of musing mirth
Shone, till each leaf whereon thy pen would run
Breathed life, and all its breath was benison.
Beloved beyond all names of English birth,
More dear than mightier memories; gentlest name
That ever clothed itself with flower-sweet fame,
Or linked itself with loftiest names of old
By right and might of loving; I, that am
Less than the least of those within thy fold,
Give only thanks for them to thee, Charles Lamb.

II.

So many a year had borne its own bright bees
And slain them since thy honey-bees were hived,
John Day, in cells of flower-sweet verse contrived
So well with craft of moulding melodies,
Thy soul perchance in amaranth fields at ease
Thought not to hear the sound on earth revived
Of summer music from the spring derived
When thy song sucked the flower of flowering trees
But thine was not the chance of every day:
Time, after many a darkling hour, grew sunny,
And light between the clouds ere sunset swam,
Laughing, and kissed their darkness all away,
When, touched and tasted and approved, thy honey
Took subtler sweetness from the lips of Lamb.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wild Honey

B. wilson
Mama Im tellin you as sure as Im standin here
Shes my girl and thats the way Im keepin it my mama dear
No good will it do you to stand there and frown at me
The girls got my heart and my loves comin down on me
Last time I met her since I got a taste of wild honey
(sweet, sweet, my honey bee)
You know shes got the sweetness of the honey bee
(sweet, sweet, my honey)
Honey, (sweet, sweet, my honey bee) she got me all and stung me good, oh, yesiree
(sweet, sweet, my honey)
Before he even stung bees buzzin around her hive
She singled me out, single handed took me alive
Im gonna take her home and spend my life
Eatin up the wild honey
(sweet, sweet, my honey bee)
(sweet, sweet, my honey)
(sweet, sweet, my honey bee)
(sweet, sweet, my honey)
(sweet, sweet, my honey)
Oh mama shes sweeter (sweeter) and sweeter (sweeter) and sweeter, sweeter
Yaaaa, honey (sweet, sweet, my honey bee)
Let me tell you how she really got to my soul (sweet,sweet my honey)
It aint funny, (sweet, sweet, my honey bee) the way she made me want to sing a little rock and
Roll (sweet, sweet, my honey)
Theres nothing quite as good as the taste of wild honey
Break my back workin just to save me some money
I can spend my life with her eatin up her wild honey
(sweet, sweet, my honey bee)
Oh honey shes sweeter (sweeter) and sweeter (sweeter) and sweeter, sweeter
Now
(sweet, sweet, my honey bee)
(sweet, sweet, my honey)
(sweet, sweet, my honey bee)
(sweet, sweet, my honey)
Gimme some gimme some
(sweet, sweet, my honey)
Gimme some gimme some(shes the one)
(sweet, sweet, my honey)
Gimme some wild honey
Gimme some gimme some..........

song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After Looking into Carlyles Reminiscences

I.

THREE MEN lived yet when this dead man was young
Whose names and words endure for ever one:
Whose eyes grew dim with straining toward the sun,
And his wings weakened, and his angel’s tongue
Lost half the sweetest song was ever sung,
But like the strain half uttered earth hears none,
Nor shall man hear till all men’s songs are done:
One whose clear spirit like an eagle hung
Between the mountains hallowed by his love
And the sky stainless as his soul above:
And one the sweetest heart that ever spake
The brightest words wherein sweet wisdom smiled.
These deathless names by this dead snake denied
Bid memory spit upon him for their sake.

II.

Sweet heart, forgive me for thine own sweet sake,
Whose kind blithe soul such seas of sorrow swam,
And for my love’s sake, powerless as I am
For love to praise thee, or like thee to make
Music of mirth where hearts less pure would break,
Less pure than thine, our life-unspotted Lamb.
Things hatefullest thou hadst not heart to damn,
Nor wouldst have set thine heel on this dead snake.
Let worms consume its memory with its tongue,
The fang that stabbed fair Truth, the lip that stung
Men’s memories uncorroded with its breath.
Forgive me, that with bitter words like his
I mix the gentlest English name that is,
The tenderest held of all that know not death.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Let's Walk Through This Garden

Come, my beloved, let us walk through this garden
Where lots of bees enchanting with the nature
Life of bees has got the life in the heaven
And placed it on the peach and citrus tree
Let us follow the footprint of those bees
Who has walked miles over the mountain?
The mountain to draw nectar high above the cool plain
Let us go into the fields, my beloved,
For the time of those who left to harvest
Seed of love has sowed into this garden
As the spirit nourishes the grain of joy with love in burden
Let us hear the melodies of the wind touch the wings
Let's sit beside this flower and pursue their exchange of the sweetness of kisses.
Let us go into the next field, my beloved,
Let's us not fill our heart with joy of sadness
Bees are yet to shed tears for those who have already lost their heavies
Under the forced of the whispering wind
Let us tend the bloom of the earth
Let us make the flowers our happiest heaven
Let us relax after the day's toil,
And listen to the murmur of the provoke bees
Rather parting with old acquaintance.
Oh! Let us return to our dwelling, my beloved!
For the wind has caused the yellow leaves to fall;
And shroud the withering flower that whisper elegy to the bees
Come my beloved, come close to me since nature has just wearied
And bidding her enthusiasm farewell.
With quiet and content sorrow
Come close to me beloved; come too closed to me.
Let us speak glory of our heart,
For that is greater than the sorrow of the bees
Lost her heaves in the flower garden
Under the force of the merciless whispering wind.

poem by Kezang Dawa
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A Bird and flower upon the tree

A bird and flower upon the tree,
Sweet peony and oriole,
Each of them a perfect soul,
Song and sweetness manifest
The bird and flower we love the best
Side by side on the tall tree.

'Flower who art sunlight and fire, flower who art perfume and joy,
Sweetest of sweet,
Ah for the gift withheld!
Ah for the given gift's alloy!
Why must thy spirit exhale only in beauty and breath?
Ah for the voice thou hast not! I by thy side on the tree,
Telling the world of love, pain, and all raptures that be,
Raptures of laughter and life, raptures of tears and death,
Singing my heart to heaven, singing to earth at my feet;
Silence in thee.'

'Bird who art dew-drops and flame, bird who art rapture and song,
Sweetest of sweet,
Lo there's a voice part mine, songs that to me too belong,
Songs that grew of my growth, voice that has breathed my breath.
Bird that while I sit mute singest beside on the tree,
Hast thou ever a song taking no perfume of me?
Give forth my sweetness in song; bird, thou art singing for both,
Singing our hearts to heaven, singing to earth at our feet;
My voice in thee.'

On the tree-top side by side,
Sweet oriole and peony;
Music rings through earth and sky,
Sweet and sweet in sweetness lost
The flower and bird we love the most,
On the tree-top side by side.

poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Memory

Brightly the sun of summer shone,
Green fields and waving woods upon,
And soft winds wandered by;
Above, a sky of purest blue,
Around, bright flowers of loveliest hue,
Allured the gazer's eye.
But what were all these charms to me,
When one sweet breath of memory
Came gently wafting by?
I closed my eyes against the day,
And called my willing soul away,
From earth, and air, and sky;

That I might simply fancy there
One little flower - a primrose fair,
Just opening into sight;
As in the days of infancy,
An opening primrose seemed to me
A source of strange delight.

Sweet Memory! ever smile on me;
Nature's chief beauties spring from thee,
Oh, still thy tribute bring!
Still make the golden crocus shine
Among the flowers the most divine,
The glory of the spring.

Still in the wall-flower's fragrance dwell;
And hover round the slight blue bell,
My childhood's darling flower.
Smile on the little daisy still,
The buttercup's bright goblet fill
With all thy former power.

For ever hang thy dreamy spell
Round mountain star and heather bell,
And do not pass away
From sparkling frost, or wreathed snow,
And whisper when the wild winds blow,
Or rippling waters play.

Is childhood, then, so all divine?
Or Memory, is the glory thine,
That haloes thus the past?
Not all divine; its pangs of grief,
(Although, perchance, their stay be brief,)
Are bitter while they last.

Nor is the glory all thine own,
For on our earliest joys alone
That holy light is cast.
With such a ray, no spell of thine
Can make our later pleasures shine,
Though long ago they passed.

poem by Anne Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Daybreak is A Glowing Bright Ball

Daybreak is a glowing bright ball
from which the fiery rays shine,
sometimes drops falling along with thunder,
with freshness embracing me when I go outside.

Early morning is a bright sun hanging in the heaven
when the colour of the bright blue
catches you with something full of mystery,
with the wind sometimes clinging to you with fingers.

Spring is flower upon flower
that is spread over fruit trees,
the beauty that astonishes you
when the garden of God stretch into the fields.

Summer is fruit that waits ripe and luring
when everything becomes adult,
sunny day upon sunny day
where the prettiest flowers are still flowering.

Autumn is coloured leaves that are everywhere,
the summer still lingering for the last time
and everything has a secret knowledge
that winter is coming, even every sunray

and nowhere I can find the words of a child,
while I am blinded by the glorious world from being young.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Dracula Flower

The flower was stretching
It's hand to find a honey-bee
To be embraced and kissed!
The flower remained
In meditation to invoke God
To sent her groom
As she bore the nectar
To be sucked and emptied
By the trunk of a honey-bee
The long hairy hands
Of the flower frightened
The butterflies move wantonly
The caterpillars jumping
In quest to quench the thirst!
As the flower in penance
Heard the humming
Of a honey-bee unseen
She opened her eyes
In search to up and sides
And she was enthused
To see the blue-black
Groom of her from heaven
With wings shivering
As if in a whirl wind
Moving to her lips
To kiss and empty her!
The flower leaped her hand
To embrace the honey-bee
Whose nail ladden legs
Did wand her hands
Yet she never let loose
Her embrace to get-him close
To her breast stored with honey.
The honey-bee sucking nectar
From the lips of the flower
Never see him trapped
In the tangle of figments.
He struggled and jerked
But the flower sucked
The honey-bee's life
In return to her nectar he sucked

poem by Vadakkumpurath Ramesan
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Lines On Observing A Blossom On The First Of February, 1796

Sweet flower! that peeping from thy russet stem
Unfoldest timidly, (for in strange sort
This dark, frieze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering month
Hath borrowed Zephyr's voice, and gazed upon thee
With blue voluptuous eye) alas poor flower!
These are but flatteries of the faithless year.
Perchance, escaped its unknown polar cave,
E'en now the keen north-east is on its way.
Flower that must perish! shall I liken thee
To some sweet girl of too, too rapid growth,
Nipped by consumption mid untimely charms?
Or to Bristowa's bard, the wond'rous boy!
As amaranth, which earth scarce seemed to own,
Till disappointment come, and pelting wrong
Beat it to earth? or with indignant grief
Shall I compare thee to poor Poland's hope,
Bright flower of hope killed in the opening bud?
Farewell, sweet blossom! better fate be thine
And mock my boding! Dim similitudes
Weaving in moral strains, I've stolen one hour
From anxious self, life's cruel taskmaster!
And the warm wooings of this sunny day
Tremble along my frame, and harmonize
The attempered organ, that even saddest thoughts
Mix with some sweet sensations, like harsh tunes
Played deftly on a soft-toned instrument.

poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Learning from the honey bee

Look at the bees
And learn something

They yearn for others
as busy bees

Together in swarms they fly along
To find gardens together they throng

From flower to flower
From nectar to nectar

Serving their queen bee with compassion
Caring for their young ones in devotion

They toil and toil
From flower to seed

To gather honey honey so sweet
Just to serve just to yearn

A tiny insect makes us learn
Its God Command to serve and earn

Give good to others
And get so in return

Be like the bees to find the truth
Of being happy and to find God's love

Be like a bee and be like the bees
Being for others and nothing above

poem by Rehanayakoob Yakoob
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Miracle

Sweet honey bees
caress each flower.
Bring to them
your attentive power.

Each beautiful flower
accept the honey bee.
as it buzzes in springtime's
gift to thee.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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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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My Bees: An Allegory

"O bees, sweet bees!" I said, "that nearest field
Is shining white with fragrant immortelles.
Fly swiftly there and drain those honey wells."
Then, spicy pines the sunny hive to shield,
I set, and patient for the autumn's yield
Of sweet I waited.
When the village bells
Rang frosty clear, and from their satin cells
The chestnuts leaped, rejoicing, I unsealed
My hive.
Alas! no snowy honey there
Was stored. My wicked bees had borne away
Their queen and left no trace.
That very day,
An idle drone who sauntered through the air
I tracked and followed, and he led me where
My truant bees and stolen honey lay.
Twice faithless bees! They had sought out to eat
Rank, bitter herbs. The honey was not sweet.

poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Cadences

I
(MINOR)

THE ANCIENT memories buried lie,
And the olden fancies pass;
The old sweet flower-thoughts wither and fly,
And die as the April cowslips die,
That scatter the bloomy grass.

All dead, my dear! And the flowers are dead,
And the happy blossoming spring;
The winter comes with its iron tread,
The fields with the dying sun are red,
And the birds have ceas’d to sing.

I trace the steps on the wasted strand
Of the vanish’d springtime’s feet:
Wither’d and dead is our Fairyland,
For Love and Death go hand in hand
Go hand in hand, my sweet!

II
(MAJOR)

OH, what shall be the burden of our rhyme,
And what shall be our ditty when the blossom’s on the lime?
Our lips have fed on winter and on weariness too long:
We will hail the royal summer with a golden-footed song!

O lady of my summer and my spring,
We shall hear the blackbird whistle and the brown sweet throstle sing,
And the low clear noise of waters running softly by our feet,
When the sights and sounds of summer in the green clear fields are sweet.

We shall see the roses blowing in the green,
The pink-lipp’d roses kissing in the golden summer sheen;
We shall see the fields flower thick with stars and bells of summer gold,
And the poppies burn out red and sweet across the corn-crown’d wold.

The time shall be for pleasure, not for pain;
There shall come no ghost of grieving for the past betwixt us twain;
But in the time of roses our lives shall grow together,
And our love be as the love of gods in the blue Olympic weather.

poem by John Howard Payne
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Cora

Of Cora, once so dearly ours,
Would mournful memory sing;
Of how she came when came the flowers,
To leave us with the spring.
That day (returned) which gave her breath
Was that whereon she died,
And o’er the pangs of birth and death
Passed blooming as a bride.

The spring it came, with never a storm,
And nine times came and went,
Till its whole spirit with her form
In budding beauty blent.

Yea, till its sentiment was wreathed
About her eye it came,
And all its foregone influence breathed
At mention of her name.

And aye her soul, her inward worth,
Flushed out in subtle glows,
As from its heart come mantling forth
The ardours of a rose.

It was a glory from within
That made her face so fair,
A radiant spirit void of sin
Was working outward there.

Her locks as they were burnished shone
In many a massy fold,
Or fell in their profusion down
Like bursting sheaves of gold.

Bright garments of a spirit bright,
That even in the shroud
Were like the sunset’s aureate light
Within a lifeless cloud.

When she, our angel of the sun,
Had spread her wings in flight,
Ah, still would mournful memory sing
Of her, our lost delight!

Child with full orbs of heaven-deep blue
Illumined violet,
So richly gentle—touched with dew,
Befringed with glossy jet.

When with the spring we saw depart
Those eyes, those tresses curled,
Then summer dying in love’s heart,
To winger left the world.

Ah, soul that wore the snowy brow,
And gentle shining eyes,
Our song hath aye this burden now
Beneath the vernal skies.

In vain the dews of heaven are shed
Where blight hath been before;
So vainly weep we o’er the dead,
But only weep the more.

Yet from the bright time of her birth
And death, does faith construe
How, like the spring, though not on earth,
Our joy shall bloom anew.

poem by Charles Harpur
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Wild Honey

Sweet sweet wild honey bee
Eat up eat up eat up honey
Mama Im tellin you as sure as Im standing here
Shes my girl and thats the way Im keeping it now mama dear
No good will it do you to stand there and frown at me
The girls got my heart and my loves coming down on me
My loves coming down since I got a taste of wild honey
You know shes got the sweetness of a honey bee
Wild honey
She got it on and stung me good yes sirree
With all the other stud bees buzzing all around her hive
She singled me out single handed took me alive
Well can you can you gonna take my life eating up her wild honey
(sweet sweet wild honey bee)
(eat up eat up eat up honey)
Oh mama shes sweeter
Gettin sweeter
Sweeter sweeter
Sweet
Wild honey
Let me tell you how she really got to my soul
It aint funny
The way she make wanna sing a little rock n roll
Theres nothing quite nice as a kiss of wild honey
I break my back workin just to save me some money
So I can spend my life with her
Sock it to me wild honey
Wild honey shes mine
Wild honey shes mine

song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Death Of The Rose

Ah! life, dear life, thy summer days have flown
Swiftly yet all too late, for they did wither.
Joy should be joy for one short hour alone,
Or it will lose its loveliness for ever.

I did not spare to use the cruel knife,
But cut the rose as soon as it was day,
And gave it to my love. Its little life
Passed, like a sigh, from Nature's breast away.

Full--hearted flower, thou didst not shrink nor flee
When the steel touched thee. No sad memories
Made what thou knew not terrible to thee,
And death came on thee like a sad surprise.

Too happy flower! I would my love had died
At unawares, by such a death as thine.
I should have slain my love in its full pride,
So had it lived and been for ever mine,

A treasure for all joy to ponder on,
Laid up for aye in old Time's palaces,
A ``thing of beauty'' which my soul had won,
And death had made undying with a kiss.

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Flowers

She is like a flower.

I like every type of flower that populates on this earth.

But one is beautiful like yellow acacias that grows from a seed into birth.

I want to plant seeds to make a garden of a family with her.

She is a flower that is sweet as honeysuckle

We are on top of a moonflower like beatiful lovers.

She lights up my day like a sunflower.

She is nothing like spring beauty and lives life by every hour.

Her love is good like red roses she never wanted me for the money.

Her beauty is like pink lotuses because she is the bomb.

And the hatred by other girls is who she exposes.

She blooms up into my life and I wouldn't mind making her my wife.

Im like a bumble bee all I need is her love like honey.

Like Winnie pooh a honey addict and yes I'm addicted to her love.

I'm her sunlight I keep her shining bright.

She is every flower

I love day and night.

poem by Anteaus Berryhill
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Pleasant As May

Writer Dolly Parton
Copyright 1973
The mid summer sun shines but dim the fields try in vain to look gay
But when I was happy with him December was pleasant as May
There once was a time he and I picked flowers to braid in my hair
And the songbirds would sing sweet song of love that was tender and fair
No difference the seasons may quit our love was as warm as the sun
And it mattered not where did the snow
Or green grass kissed the fields where we'd run
Now the mid summer sun shines...
Sweet flowers sweet birds and sweet song have now lost their sweetness to me
For ever my darling is gone and for ever my heartbroken I'll be
Now the mid summer sun shines...
The mid summer sun shines but dim mmm

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anonymous Plays: XVII

YE TOO, dim watchfires of some darkling hour,
Whose fame forlorn time saves not nor proclaims
For ever, but forgetfulness defames
And darkness and the shadow of death devour,
Lift up ye too your light, put forth your power,
Let the far twilight feel your soft small flames
And smile, albeit night name not even their names,
Ghost by ghost passing, flower blown down on flower:
That sweet-tongued shadow, like a star’s that passed
Singing, and light was from its darkness cast
To paint the face of Painting fair with praise:
And that wherein forefigured smiles the pure
Fraternal face of Wordsworth’s Elidure
Between two child-faced masks of merrier days

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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A Beautiful Flower Blooming

A withered flower blooming again
breeze shook the flower
the sun is shining on flower
rain water to wash the dust-filled flower
abort storm petals
storm that renders the flower petals
polling beetle sucking painful

flower that bloom so bright today
beauty exudes an aura of coolness of the beholder
spread the fragrance that invites a bee to touch
although many other flowers around it
bees sucking the flower first
choose to suck and touch the flower
lately the flower
always bloom radiate beauty
a bee was not able to get away from the flower
a bee sucking the beautiful bloomington
always produce the honey taste good
really beautiful relationship between the flower and bee
both are very compatible and complement each other

poem by meti Rahmawati
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