Omnes Vanitas
Alas for ambition's possessor!
Alas for the famous and proud!
The Isle of Manhattan's best dresser
Is wearing a hand-me-down shroud.
The world has forgotten his glory;
The wagoner sings on his wain,
And Chauncey Depew tells a story,
And jackasses laugh in the lane.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Related quotes
Corn Grinders
O little mouse, why dost thou cry
While merry stars laugh in the sky?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah, who will ease my bitter pain?
He went to seek a millet-grain
In the rich farmer's granary shed;
They caught him in a baited snare,
And slew my lover unaware:
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
O little deer, why dost thou moan,
Hid in thy forest-bower alone?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah! who will quiet my lament?
At fall of eventide he went
To drink beside the river-head;
A waiting hunter threw his dart,
And struck my lover through the heart.
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
O little bride, why dost thou weep
With all the happy world asleep?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah, who will stay these hungry tears,
Or still the want of famished years,
And crown with love my marriage-bed?
My soul burns with the quenchless fire
That lit my lover's funeral pyre:
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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The first step towards getting somewhere is to decide that you are not going to stay where you are.
quote by Chauncey Depew
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Story
They met each other in the glade –
She lifted up her eyes;
Alack the day! Alack the maid!
She blushed in swift surprise.
Alas! Alas! the woe that comes from lifting up the eyes.
The pail was full, the path was steep –
He reached to her his hand;
She felt her warm young pulses leap,
But did not understand.
Alas! Alas! the woe that comes from clasping hand with hand.
She sat beside him in the wood –
He wooed with words and sighs;
Ah! love in spring seems sweet and good,
And maidens are not wise.
Alas! Alas! the woe that comes from listing lovers’ sighs.
The summer sun shone fairly down,
The wind blew from the south;
As his blue eyes gazed in eyes of brown,
His kiss fell on her mouth.
Alas! Alas! the woe that comes from kisses on the mouth.
And now the autumn time is near,
The lover roves away,
With breaking heart and falling tear,
She sits the livelong day.
Alas! Alas! for breaking hearts when lovers rove away.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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A pessimist is a man who thinks all women are bad. An optimist is one who hopes they are.
quote by Chauncey Depew
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The enjoyment of life would be instantly gone if you removed the possibility of doing something.
quote by Chauncey Depew
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alas, Love, Alas
And now i'm dismissed
I don't know what the love is
If there always will be tears
And the souls never will find the peace
Why the lovers had became so cruel and insensible
Who can bear all these
Are these the new rules of the love?
Even the love changed it's face
Alas, love, Alas
If the humanity's cruelty
Even changed your face
Nothing in this world will stay the same
Alas, world, Alas
Step back my soul
let's live in peace alone
While the meaning of real love is missed
How the world can be so unreal
Even the love changed it's face
Alas, Love, Alas
If the Humanity's cruelty
Even changed your face
Alas, world, Alas
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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A Dialogue-Anthem
Alas, poor Death! Where is thy glory?
Where is thy famous force, thy ancient sting?
Alas, poor mortal, void of story!
Go spell and read how I have killed thy King.
Poor Death! And who was hurt thereby?
Thy curse being laid on Him makes thee accurst.
Let losers talk, yet thou shalt die;
These arms shall crush thee.
Spare not, do thy worst.
I shall be one day better than before;
Thou so much worse, that thou shalt be no more.
poem by George Herbert
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Manhattan
Summer journeys to Niagra
and to other places aggravate all our cares.
We'll save our fares!
I've a cozy little flat in
What is known as old Manhattan
We'll settle down
Right here in town!
We'll have Manhattan
the Bronx and Staten Island too.
It's lovely going through the zoo!
(Sing to me, Bette, come on)
It's very fancy
on old Delancy street you know. (I know)
The subway charms us so
When balmy breezes blow
To and fro.
I'd like to take a
Sail on Jamaica Bay with you,
And fair Canarsie's Lakes we'll view.
The city's bustle cannot destroy
Oooh, the dreams of a girl and boy
We'll turn Manhattan
Into an isle of joy.
Ooh, yeah
And tell me what street
compares with Mott Street in July?
Sweet pushcarts gently gli-ding by.
The great big city's a wonderous toy
Ooh, just made for a girl and boy.
We'll turn Manhattan into an isle of joy!
We'll turn Manhattan into an isle of joy!
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Manhattan (feat. Bette Midler)
(feat. Bette Midler)
Summer journeys to Niagra
and to other places aggravate all our cares.
We'll save our fares!
I've a cozy little flat in
What is known as old Manhattan
We'll settle down
Right here in town!
We'll have Manhattan
the Bronx and Staten Island too.
It's lovely going through the zoo!
(Sing to me, Bette, come on)
It's very fancy
on old Delancy street you know. (I know)
The subway charms us so
When balmy breezes blow
To and fro.
I'd like to take a
Sail on Jamaica Bay with you,
And fair Canarsie's Lakes we'll view.
The city's bustle cannot destroy
Oooh, the dreams of a girl and boy
We'll turn Manhattan
Into an isle of joy.
Ooh, yeah
And tell me what street
compares with Mott Street in July?
Sweet pushcarts gently gli-ding by.
The great big city's a wonderous toy
Ooh, just made for a girl and boy.
We'll turn Manhattan into an isle of joy!
We'll turn Manhattan into an isle of joy!
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Friend's Song for Simoisius
The breath of dew, and twilight's grace,
Be on the lonely battle-place;
And to so young, so kind a face,
The long, protecting grasses cling!
(Alas, alas,
The one inexorable thing!)
In rocky hollows cool and deep,
The bees our boyhood hunted sleep;
The early moon from Ida's steep
Comes to the empty wrestling-ring.
(Alas, alas,
The one inexorable thing!)
Upon the widowed wind recede
No echoes of the shepherd's reed,
And children without laughter lead
The war-horse to the watering.
(Alas, alas,
The one inexorable thing!)
Thou stranger Ajax Telamon!
What to the loveliest hast thou done,
That ne'er with him a maid may run
Across the marigolds in spring?
(Alas, alas,
The one inexorable thing!)
With footstep separate and slow
The father and the mother go,
Not now upon an urn they know
To mingle tears for comforting.
(Alas, alas,
The one inexorable thing!)
The world to me has nothing dear
Beyond the namesake river here:
O Simois is wild and clear!
And to his brink my heart I bring;
(Alas, alas,
The one inexorable thing!)
My heart no more, if that might be
Would stay his waters from the sea,
To cover Troy, to cover me,
To save us from the perishing.
(Alas, alas,
The one inexorable thing!)
poem by Louise Imogen Guiney
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Ay Me, Ay Me, I Sigh the Scythe A-field
Ay me, ay me, I sigh to see the scythe a-field;
Down goeth the grass, soon wrought to wither'd hay:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that beauty needs must yield,
And princes pass, as grass doth fade away.
Ay me, ay me, that life can not have lasting leave,
Nor gold take hold of everlasting joy:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that time hath talents to receive,
And yet no time can make a suer stay.
Ay me, ay me, that wit can not have wished choice,
Nor wish can win that will desires to see:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that mirth can promise no rejoice,
Nor study tell what afterward shall be.
Ay me, ay me, that no sure staff is given to age,
Nor age can give sure wit that youth will take:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that no counsel wise and sage
Will shun the show that all doth mar and make.
Ay me, ay me, come, Time, shear on and shake thy hay,
It is no boot to balk thy bitter blows:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, come, Time, take everything away,
For all is thine, be it good or bad, that grows.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Alas my Rose
Alas my rose
Stole my youth years
I love the hands were
Happened to me does not smell roses
Alas Alas rose my rose
I do not know my carpet what happens when
I've been nomadic cranes
I had ants on the road
I remember one dear
Alas Alas rose rose
Did not hurt me cruel...
Weird strange world
I got called in Konya
Shabby wrote my tag
Oh, my dear rose rose
Was not keep my hands, slice..
İnce waist, did not hold
friend not formed into the hands of
I do not get Muradiye
Rose Alas, alas rose
My arm was broken wings..
sabit ince Kayseri 05/10/2012
poem by Sabit Ince
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I get my exercise acting as a pallbearer to my friends who exercise.
quote by Chauncey Depew
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The government of the United States is and always has been a lawyer's government.
quote by Chauncey Depew
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every Face Tells A Story
Look at the man in the corner, hes sitting all alone
His blankets are made out of cardboard,
His pillows are made out of stone
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
See the man walking on the water, see the light in his eyes
He came into the world with a message to tell,
He came into the world to die
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Youre always telling stories, youre always telling me lies
Youre always telling stories, why?
So think of yourself in the water, seeing your days flashing by
Its too late to see what you wanted to be,
Youve spent all your time, you must die
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Every face tells a story it never tells a lie
Step down
And make it work out right
Im trying to get to you with my warning
Been there
For nearly half the night
Look its nearly four in the morning
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nature tells me
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my riches for I am not
much richer than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my beauty for I am not
much beautiful than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my kindness for I am not
much kinder than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my generosity for I am not
much generous than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my logicality for I am not
much logical than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my judiciousness for I am not
much judicious than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my poetic mind for I am not
much poetic than her.
Nature tells me not to be proud
of my prides for I am not
much prouder than her.
poem by Palas kumar Ray
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Think For Things
greed you think of things
alas things degenerate
greed you think less of others
alas you tinker with things
greed you think less with sense
alas you kill your neighbour
gree you abhor with your thoughts
alas you make cultures perish
greed you are embodiment of evil
alas unsatiable are are your wants
poem by Venkatesh Ram
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXXX: Story
Story about future is called imagination
Story about past is called memories
Story about present is called reality
Story that becomes true is called prophecy
Story that becomes unfulfilled is called regret
Story that becomes no end is called boasting
Small story is called experience
Epic story is called history
Forgotten story is called lesson
Story that becomes obsession is called ambition
Story that becomes untold is called secret
Story that becomes go its own way is called life
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Tennyson
Poets they do pursue each theme
Under a gentle head of steam,
Save one, who needed fierce fire on,
The brilliant, passionate Byron.
His Child Harold's Pilgrimage
Forever will the world engage.
He fought, with glory, to release
From Turkish yoke the Isle of Greece ;
Her glories oft by him were sung,
This wondrous bard, alas, died young.
poem by James McIntyre
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The Anonymous Poet
You, the choice minions of the proud-lipped nine
Who warble at the great Apollo's knee,
Why do you laugh at these rude lays of mine?
I seek not of your brotherhood to be:
I do not play the public swan, nor try
To curve my proud neck on your vocal streams.
In my own little isle retreated, I
Lost myself in my waters and my dreams:
Forgetful of the world, forgotten too,
The cygnet of my own secluded wave
I sing, whilst dashing up their silver dew
For joy, the petty billows try to rave:
There is a still applause in solitude,
Fitting alike my merits and my mood.
poem by George Darley
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