The New Enoch
Enoch Arden was an able
Seaman; hear of his mishap
Not in wild mendacious fable,
As 't was told by t' other chap;
For I hold it is a youthful
Indiscretion to tell lies,
And the writer that is truthful
Has the reader that is wise.
Enoch Arden, able seaman,
On an isle was cast away,
And before he was a freeman
Time had touched him up with gray.
Long he searched the fair horizon,
Seated on a mountain top;
Vessel ne'er he set his eyes on
That would undertake to stop.
Seeing that his sight was growing
Dim and dimmer, day by day,
Enoch said he must be going.
So he rose and went away-
Went away and so continued
Till he lost his lonely isle:
Mr. Arden was so sinewed
He could row for many a mile.
Compass he had not, nor sextant,
To direct him o'er the sea:
Ere 't was known that he was extant,
At his widow's home was he.
When he saw the hills and hollows
And the streets he could but know,
He gave utterance as follows
To the sentiments below:
'Blast my tarry toplights! (shiver,
Too, my timbers!) but, I say,
W'at a larruk to diskiver,
I have lost me blessid way!
'W'at, alas, would be my bloomin'
Fate if Philip now I see,
Which I lammed?-or my old 'oman,
Which has frequent basted _me_?'
Scenes of childhood swam around him
At the thought of such a lot:
In a swoon his Annie found him
And conveyed him to her cot.
'T was the very house, the garden,
Where their honeymoon was passed:
'T was the place where Mrs. Arden
Would have mourned him to the last.
Ah, what grief she'd known without him!
Now what tears of joy she shed!
Enoch Arden looked about him:
'Shanghaied!'-that was all he said.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Related quotes
Where's Enoch?
astronomers
search the stars!
you'll not find
even one sight
similar in one
infinitesimal dot
to sights
enoch saw
and scribed
in a book*
he read
to his sons.
where is this place?
where is this place
enoch saw?
*Book of Enoch
poem by Doug Bentley
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Mary Arden
When a simple English maiden,
Nested warm in Wilmicote,
Sang forth like a lark uprising
Heavenward with its morning note,
Did no English ear that listened,
Even then, foretouched by fame,
Tremble to the prophet-music
Fountain-headed in thy name,
Mary Arden?
And to thee thyself, O tell me!
Shade of Shakespeare’s mother, tell me!
Did no dazzling vision come,
Banishing all thoughts of gloom,
Of the bardic grandeurs waiting
On thy matron fate, when He
Who in time should call thee mother
Should all time’s subjector be,
Mary Arden?
Then a mother we behold thee,
With that babe upon thy breast,
That great nascent soul, so bird-like,
Babbling in its fragrant nest:
O what spirit sweetly human,
O what instincts mildly wise,
Sucked he from those mother-fountains,
Drew he from those mother-eyes,
Mary Arden?
But shall we, now spirit-basking
In the noonblaze of his fame,
Fail to read a sign prophetic
In thy lovely maiden name?
No; it is the star that trembled
O’er a royal poet’s birth;
And amongst immortal Maries,
Second to but one on earth,
Mary Arden!
Glory to thee! Mary Arden!
Shakespeare’s mother! England’s Mary!
poem by Charles Harpur
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Tom Van Arden
Tom Van Arden, my old friend,
Our warm fellowship is one
Far too old to comprehend
Where its bond was first begun:
Mirage-like before my gaze
Gleams a land of other days,
Where two truant boys, astray,
Dream their lazy lives away.
There's a vision, in the guise
Of Midsummer, where the Past
Like a weary beggar lies
In the shadow Time has cast;
And as blends the bloom of trees
With the drowsy hum of bees,
Fragrant thoughts and murmurs blend,
Tom Van Arden, my old friend.
Tom Van Arden, my old friend,
All the pleasures we have known
Thrill me now as I extend
This old hand and grasp your own--
Feeling, in the rude caress,
All affection's tenderness;
Feeling, though the touch be rough,
Our old souls are soft enough.
So we'll make a mellow hour:
Fill your pipe, and taste the wine--
Warp your face, if it be sour,
I can spare a smile from mine;
If it sharpen up your wit,
Let me feel the edge of it--
I have eager ears to lend,
Tom Van Arden, my old friend.
Tom Van Arden, my old friend,
Are we 'lucky dogs,' indeed?
Are we all that we pretend
In the jolly life we lead?--
Bachelors, we must confess,
Boast of 'single blessedness'
To the world, but not alone--
Man's best sorrow is his own!
And the saddest truth is this,--
Life to us has never proved
What we tasted in the kiss
Of the women we have loved:
Vainly we congratulate
Our escape from such a fate
As their lying lips could send,
Tom Van Arden, my old friend!
Tom Van Arden, my old friend,
Hearts, like fruit upon the stem,
Ripen sweetest, I contend,
As the frost falls over them:
Your regard for me to-day
Makes November taste of May,
And through every vein of rhyme
Pours the blood of summer-time.
When our souls are cramped with youth
Happiness seems far away
In the future, while, in truth,
We look back on it to-day
Through our tears, nor dare to boast,--
'Better to have loved and lost!'
Broken hearts are hard to mend,
Tom Van Arden, my old friend.
Tom Van Arden, my old friend,
I grow prosy, and you tire;
Fill the glasses while I bend
To prod up the failing fire. . . .
You are restless:--I presume
There's a dampness in the room.--
Much of warmth our nature begs,
With rheumatics in our legs! . . .
Humph! the legs we used to fling
Limber-jointed in the dance,
When we heard the fiddle ring
Up the curtain of Romance,
And in crowded public halls
Played with hearts like jugglers' balls.--
FEATS OF MOUNTEBANKS, DEPEND!--
Tom Van Arden, my old friend.
Tom Van Arden, my old friend,
Pardon, then, this theme of mine:
While the firelight leaps to lend
Higher color to the wine,--
I propose a health to those
Who have HOMES, and home's repose,
Wife- and child-love without end!
. . . Tom Van Arden, my old friend.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Commonwealth
Immigrants. Wilson Health said to the immgrants you better get back to the
commonwealth homes. Yeah, yeah, yeah I said Get back home. Now Enoch Powell was
said to the folks color of his skin. He said don't care. So he said you better
get up. He said he said to Enoch Powell. You better go home. So Wilson said to.
We got to swing. We have to go the hill. So Wilson Health said to Enoch Powell
we got to the commonwealth. Commonwealth yeah commonwealth yeah commonwealth
yeah commonwealth yeah.
Commonwealth yeah. If you don't want trouble you got to go home. To Indania.
I've have enough of that. I'm coming back yeah to England. Dirty Enoch Powell.
Commonwealth. Commonwealth yeah. Don't you hear me commonwealth yeah. Well I
check Austria England India. Enoch powell. Oh commonwealth yeag. Oh
commonwealth yeah. Yeah commonwealth yeah. Commonwealth yeah. It's to common to
me. I came down the street to New Zealand. Commonwealth. Commonwealth yeah.
Commonwealth yeah. Enoch Powell commonwealth yeah. Immigrants commonwealth
yeah. Market.
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Idea LIII: To the River Ancor
Clear Ancor, on whose silver-sanded shore
My soul-shrin'd saint, my fair Idea lies,
O blessed brook, whose milk-white swans adore
Thy crystal stream, refined by her eyes,
Where sweet myrrh-breathing Zephyr in the spring
Gently distills his nectar-dropping showers,
Where nightingales in Arden sit and sing
Amongst the dainty dew-impearled flowers;
Say thus, fair brook, when thou shalt see thy queen:
Lo, here thy shepherd spent his wand'ring years,
And in these shades, dear nymph, he oft hath been,
And here to thee he sacrific'd his tears.
Fair Arden, thou my Tempe art alone,
And thou, sweet Ancor, art my Helicon.
poem by Michael Drayton
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Sonnet LIII: Clear Anker
Another to the River Anker
Clear Anker, on whose silver-sanded shore
My soul-shrin'd saint, my fair Idea, lies,
O blessed brook, whose milk-white swans adore
The crystal stream refined by her eyes,
Where sweet myrrh-breathing Zephyr in the Spring
Gently distils his nectar-dropping showers,
Where nightingales in Arden sit and sing
Among the dainty dew-impearled flowers;
Say thus, fair Brook, when thou shalt see thy Queen,
"Lo, here thy shepherd spent his wand'ring years,
And in these shades, dear nymph, he oft hath been,
And here to thee he sacrific'd his tears."
Fair Arden, thou my Tempe art alone,
And thou, sweet Anker, art my Helicon.
poem by Michael Drayton
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Linden Arden Stole The Highlights
Linden arden stole the highlights --
With one hand tied behind his back --
Loved the morning sun, and whiskey
Ran like water in his veins
Loved to go to church on sunday
Even though he was a drinking man
When the boys came to san francisco
They were looking for his life
But he found out where they were drinking
Met them face to face outside
Cleaved their heads off with a hatchet
Lord, he was a drinkin man
And when someone tried to get above him
He just took the law into his own hands
Linden arden stole the highlights
And they put his fingers through the glass
He had heard all those stories many, many times before
And he did not know nor care to ask
And he loved the little children like they were his very own
You say, someday it may get lonely.
Now hes livin, livin with a gun
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hold fast to life and youth.
quote by Elizabeth Arden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hold fast to youth and beauty.
quote by Elizabeth Arden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Again
It had been some years
since you and I
had shared any stage and time
but here we are
in another's garden.
Strands of silver now showcase
your still pensive lovely face
You played Rosalind with me
in William's Arden.
Our theater borne romance
never really had much chance.
I know I hurt you
and I seek your pardon.
Never again to know that touch
which we both enjoyed so much-
It's true with time and age
positions harden.
Still, you tempted, and I ate,
and with that we sealed our fate.
That was long ago and
in another Garden.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Every woman has the right to be beautiful.
quote by Elizabeth Arden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I only want people around me who can do the impossible.
quote by Elizabeth Arden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nothing that costs only a dollar is not worth having.
quote by Elizabeth Arden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I pick good women, but I haven't had any luck with my men.
quote by Elizabeth Arden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dear, never forget one little point. It's my business. You just work here.
quote by Elizabeth Arden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The mystic rose
In ancient times
a warrior prince travelled to the East
to find the wisest man on earth.
Stars guided him
over uncharted terrain
to the court of Enoch
who counselled with the Almighty God.
Great and knowledgeable king,
point me the way
to find the most beautiful flower of all,
it’s called the mystic rose,
and like crystal its leaves glitters
in colours of blue, violet and ruby red
and its odour is more divine
than that of any other bloom.
Why do you need this spectre flower
the great wise king asked?
To win the heart of the girl that I desire
the prince proclaimed.
Where will I find the mystic rose?
The rich prince asked again
while his servants
brought great gifts to the wise king.
Enoch looked the prince in the eye
and said:
Somewhere in the depths
of your inner soul
lies the flower that you seek.
Without words the prince
studied the wise king
and thought about his words
without really comprehending.
The words were perplexing to the prince.
What is the mystic rose,
the prince asked at last
Its unconditional, self-sacrificing
and called perfect love
the wisest man said to him.
poem by Gert Strydom
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An Asphodel
O dear sweet rosy
unattainable desire
...how sad, no way
to change the mad
cultivated asphodel, the
visible reality...
and skin's appalling
petals--how inspired
to be so Iying in the living
room drunk naked
and dreaming, in the absence
of electricity...
over and over eating the low root
of the asphodel,
gray fate...
rolling in generation
on the flowery couch
as on a bank in Arden--
my only rose tonite's the treat
of my own nudity.
poem by Allen Ginsberg
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If You Still Remember
her name is
Elizabeth Arden
a green tea
her favorite
a scent spray
eau parfumee
vaporijateur!
i am keeping
it inside my heart.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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[03] Unkind April
You left me and I had nothing to hold
I have only vomited pain to bathroom
I am here and you are there at home
I had nothing to do or say to anything
You may need but still I demand you
Kindly pour me baby as an ice-cream
I have lost my brain and soul in April
I can not sleep sound during nights
Just a finger which I could not drink
I have kept that desire into chest-drawer
With my Elizabeth Arden after flatten
But in this non-aromatic crack of dawn
A sharp kitchen knife became equipped
On my breakfast table to sliver musing
‘No' have sprouted from zero to bloom
Infeasibility— April is unkind like you
poem by Ashraful Musaddeq
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Morning Glory
Rachel McAdams, Harrison Ford, 50 Cent, Patrick Wilson, Jeff Goldblum, Diane Keaton, Arden Myrin, Liam Ferguson
from Morning Glory (2010)
Submitted by Trandafir
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