Related quotes: O Liberty, God-gifted Young and...

To The Bartholdi Statue

O Liberty, God-gifted
Young and immortal maid
In your high hand uplifted;
The torch declares your trade.

Its crimson menace, flaming
Upon the sea and shore,
Is, trumpet-like, proclaiming
That Law shall be no more.

Austere incendiary,
We're blinking in the light;
Where is your customary
Grenade of dynamite?

Where are your staves and switches
For men of gentle birth?
Your mask and dirk for riches?
Your chains for wit and worth?

Perhaps, you've brought the halters
You used in the old days,
When round religion's altars
You stabled Cromwell's bays?

Behind you, unsuspected,
Have you the axe, fair wench,
Wherewith you once collected
A poll-tax from the French?

America salutes you
Preparing to disgorge.
Take everything that suits you,
And marry Henry George.

1894

poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Related quotes

To the Bartholdi Statue

O Liberty, God-gifted--
Young and immortal maid--
In your high hand uplifted,
The torch declares your trade.

Its crimson menace, flaming
Upon the sea and shore,
Is, trumpet-like, proclaiming
That Law shall be no more.

Austere incendiary,
We're blinking in the light;
Where is your customary
Grenade of dynamite?

Where are your staves and switches
For men of gentle birth?
Your mask and dirk for riches?
Your chains for wit and worth?

Perhaps, you've brought the halters
You used in the old days,
When round religion's altars
You stabled Cromwell's bays?

Behind you, unsuspected,
Have you the axe, fair wench,
Wherewith you once collected
A poll-tax for the French?

America salutes you--
Preparing to 'disgorge.'
Take everything that suits you,
And marry Henry George.

poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little Red Light

Sitting in traffic on the Tappan Zee
Fifty million people out in front of me
Trying to cross the water but it just might be a while
Rain's coming down I can't see a thing
Radio's broken so I'm whistling
New York to Nyack feels like a hundred miles
It's not right
It's not fair
I'm still a mess
And you still don't care
I go to work
I come back home
But you're still gone
And I'm still alone
And the little red light's not blinking
No, no the little red light's not blinking
No, no the little red light's not blinking
On my big black plastic Japanese cordless phone
Oh no
Stuck in a meeting on Monday night
Trying to get the numbers to come out right
I'm getting tired, I think I just might need a drink
And as I'm reaching in the bottom drawer
I'm dreaming 'bout the way it was before
Life was so easy I never really had to think
It's not right
It's not fair
I'm still a mess
And you still don't care
I go to sleep
When I wake up
The pain sets in
And it never stops
And the little red light's not blinking
No, no the little red light's not blinking
No, no the little red light's not blinking
On the desktop mailbox of my big black laptop
Oh no
It's not right
It's not fair
I'm still a mess
And you still don't care
I go to work
I come back home
But you're still gone
And I'm still alone
And the little red light's not blinking
No, no the little red light's not blinking
No, no the little red light's not blinking
On my big black Radio Shack digital portable phone
Oh no

song performed by by Fountains Of Wayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I Ever Marry, I'll Marry A Maid

If ever I marry, I'll marry a maid;
To marry a widow, I am sore afraid:
For maids they are simple, and never will grutch,
But widows full oft, as they say, know too much.

A maid is so sweet, and so gentle of kind,
That a maid is the wife I will choose to my mind
A widow is froward, and never will yield;
Or if such there be, you will meet them but seeld.

A maid ne'er complaineth, do what so you will;
But what you mean well, a widow takes ill:
A widow will make you a drudge and a slave,
And, cost ne'er so much, she will ever go brave.

A maid is so modest, she seemeth a rose
When it first beginneth the bud to unclose;
But a widow full-blowen full often deceives,
And the next wind that bloweth shakes down all her leaves.

The widows be lovely, I never gainsay,
But too well all their beauty they know to display;
But a maid hath so great hidden beauty in store,
She can spare to a widow, yet never be poor.

Then, if ever I marry, give me a fresh maid,
If to marry with any I be not afraid;
But to marry with any, it asketh much care;
And some bachelors hold they are best as they are.

poem by Anonymous Americas
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Im So Young

I have a girlfriend
She says Im her only one
We wanna get married
But were so young
So young
Cant marry no one
They say our love is
Just a teenage affection
But no one knows
Our hearts direction
So young
Cant marry no one
Im Im Im so young
Im Im Im so young
Im Im Im so young
Cant marry no one, no one
Pretty soon now
Ill go to sea
Their mothers baby
Will have seen the last of me
So young
Cant marry no one, no one
Cant marry no one
Cant marry no one
Cant marry no one
Cant marry no one
Cant marry no one
Cant marry no one

song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Written In Aid Of The Leicester Lunatic Asylum.

Light ye the torch,--
The torch that hath expired;
The light with which was fired
Chamber and hall and porch:
But now the house is dark,
Its inmates rove in vain,
There shines but a bewildering spark:
Light ye the torch again!

Light ye the torch,--
It was a sacred flame,
From God in heaven it came:
All nature ye may search
To find a fire so bright,
And ye shall search in vain:
But quenched is all its glorious light:--
Light ye the torch again!

Light ye the torch,--
The ruthless winds have blown
Its tresses up and down,
Till it did scare and scorch,
Not bless: but one fell blast
Swept howling o'er the plain,
And left all darkness as it past;--
Light ye the torch again!

Light ye the torch,--
And ye shall blessed be:
Till many a bended knee
In chamber and in church
Shall serve ye: merciful,
Mercy ye shall obtain:
Your cup of glory shall be full:--
Light ye the torch again!

poem by Henry Alford
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I see America, not in the setting sun of a black night of despair ahead of us, I see America in the crimson light of a rising sun fresh from the burning, creative hand of God. I see great days ahead, great days possible to men and women of will and vision.

quote by Carl Sandburg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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America My Country

It's great to live in a country big and strong
It doesn't matter if you are young or old
Our thoughts are as good as gold
Where we go on land or sea
We can always be happy and free
Free to express our thoughts and then
Even express them over again
To different people no matter what color or race
In America for them there is always a place
To make a home
For their families to roam
The fields; the woods.
The countryside
Especially the young man and his bride
For seniors and teens
In formals or jeans
Who ever it may be
Remember we can always be free
Just like a bird chirping, singing happily.
Like chipmunks in the wood
Calling to his mate and being good.
Good to his family
And Grandpa talking to his Emily
Pondering over ideas and thoughts galore
And, off to bed and listen to him snore
Taken up in the morning early light
Whenever it is nice and bright
In America where we are always free
Where in New York Harbor stands the Statue of Liberty
Her hand raised high toward the sky
Where our planes in freedom fly
Where all of us want to be
America for you and me
Liberty and freedom will never end
I'll get down on both my knees and bend
To thank God I am an American
In a country great and grand
Who wants to be anywhere else
Except in America where we can do so much expand
America will always be my land.

poem by Florence D. Schmalke
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The Call

I hear an Army!
Millions of men coming up from the edge of the world,
The ring of unnumbered feet ever louder and louder
Comes on and an like a mighty untameable tide,
Steady, implacable, out of the North and the South,
Out of the East, and the West, they answer the call
Of her who stands, her eyes towards God and the stars,
Liberty, daughter of God, calling her men.

What manner of men are these? Like the desert sands
Uncounted, many as locusts, darkening the sky?
White men, black men, men of the tawny gold,
Golden-eyed like the lion, sons of the sun,
Men from the snow, their eyes like frost or a sword:
They have but one heart, one desire, they run one way.
Hurrying, hurrying to the shrill trumpet call.

Men from the ice-floes, men from the jungles come;
This from the arms of his bride, that from his dead.
Men from the plough, the mart, the mill and the street
They run: they are heroes: the fire fuses them all.
Head uplifted and proud, like heroes they step,
Singing their battle song in the troubled dawn
Of the day of Liberty, flaming torch of the world.
I hear an Army!

poem by Katharine Tynan
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To Be Young, Gifted & Black

(1969) nina simone, weldon irvine jr
To be young, gifted and black,
Oh what a lovely precious dream
To be young, gifted and black,
Open your heart to what I mean
In the whole world you know
There are billion boys and girls
Who are young, gifted and black,
And thats a fact!
Young, gifted and black
We must begin to tell our young
Theres a world waiting for you
This is a quest thats just begun
When you feel really low
Yeah, theres a great truth you should know
When youre young, gifted and black
Your souls intact
Young, gifted and black
How I long to know the truth
There are times when I look back
And I am haunted by my youth
Oh but my joy of today
Is that we can all be proud to say
To be young, gifted and black
Is where its at

song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Be Young Gifted And Black

song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Damask rose

Damask rose how fair your beauty holds the light
How fair your fragrance subdues the fears of night
and how fair your lowly crimson-head
Is with gallantry and passion fed.

In Midnight-oils in sunlit soils
Not a fairer beauty be;
Oh damask rose in flaming clothes
What more beauty could there be...

But in man's hand a maiden fair
with hazelnut brown hair
And roving-limbs that exult like hymns
The answer to a prayer...

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Dell And I

In a mansion grand, just over the way,
Lives bonny, beautiful Dell;
You may have heard of this lady gay,
For she is a famous belle.
I live in a low cot opposite,
You never have heard of me;
For when the lady moon shines bright,
Who would a pale star see?
But ah, well, ah, well! I am happier far than Dell,
As strange as that may be.

Dell has robes of the richest kind-
Pinks and purples and blues.
And she worries her maid and frets her mind
To know which one to choose.
Which shall it be now, silk or lace?
In which will I be most fair?
She stands by the mirror with anxious face,
And her maid looks on in despair.
Ah, well, ah, well! I am not worried, you see, like Dell,
For I have but
one
to wear.

Dell has lovers of every grade,
Of every age and style;
Suitors flutter about the maid,
And bask in her word and smile.
She keeps them all, with a coquette's art,
As suits her mood or mirth,
And vainly wonders if in one heart
Of all true love has birth.
Ah, well, ah, well! I never question myself like Dell,
For I
know
a true heart's worth.

Pleasure to Dell seems stale and old,
Often she sits and sighs;
Life to me is a tale untold,
Each day is a glad surprise.
Dell with marry, of course, some day
After her belleship is run;
She will cavil the matter in worldly way
And wed Dame Fortune's son.
But, ah, well, sweet to tell, I shall not dally and choose like Dell,
For I love and am loved by-
one
.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Liberty

When liberty is headlong girl
And runs her roads and wends her ways
Liberty will shriek and whirl
Her showery torch to see it blaze.

When liberty is wedded wife
And keeps the barn and counts the byre
Liberty amends her life.
She drowns her torch for fear of fire.

poem by Archibald MacLeish
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Goose girl

Princess Rosalinda

Of great Oceania

In Romania

Betrothed to prince of Jamaica

On a perilous journey
To meet hers fiancée
Living at them farthest horizon
Takes a maid servant as companion
And a lock of dark raven hair
Of dear Queen mother o’ fair
Evidence for hers identity
Half way through ‘tis journey
The maid betrayed hers kindest heart
Took hers place with great deceit
Princess Rosalinda as the maid
Whose hath been deprived
Thence met hers waiting prince
Ungrateful wench of pretence
Hath received love’s first kiss
Whilst through arrow amiss
Gentle princess as goose girl
Tended the geese in the courtyard
Until one fine day whispered the wind
In the prince’s ear,
“Alas! Come hither, ”
“Prince o’ be latter”
“Fair maiden of raven hair”
‘Tis thou true one yonder
While other ‘tis imposter
Out runs hers prince of bravest
To embrace his maiden fairest,

Disgusting wench of mutter

Vermin of smutted tatter

Silent with no human utter

Lies Crushed in the murky gutter! ! !

poem by Aminath Neena
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Carrying A Torch

Im carryin a torch for you
Im carryin a torch
You know how much it costs
To keep carryin a torch
Flame of love it burns so bright
That is my desire
Keep on liftin me, liftin me up
Higher and higher
Youre the keeper of the flame
And you burn so bright
Baby why dont we re-connect
Move into the light
Ive been going to and fro on this
And Im still carryin a torch
You must know how much its worth
When Im carryin a torch (alright)
Baby youre the keeper of the flame
And you burn so bright
Why, why, why, why, why, why dont we re-connect
And move on further, into the light
Ive been calling you on the phone
'cause Im carryin a torch (yeah)
I can do it all on my own
'cause Im carryin a torch
Im carryin a torch for you, baby
Im carryin a torch
You know how much its worth
Because Im carryin a torch (one more)
Im carryin a torch for you, baby
Im carryin a torch
You know how much its worth
Because Im carryin a torch.

song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Torch of Freedom

we light the torch of freedom
when we put a name
to every face
a hand in every hand,
a cup and a bowl
before every hungry soul

we light the torch of freedom
when we restore dignity
in our every action
when we take responsibility
for every thought,
every word,
every deed.

we light the torch of freedom
when we give more than
we can afford to.
give unconditionally,
give without remorse!
we light the torch of freedom

poem by Eric Cockrell
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America Is An Idea

In the Rotations
of the Universe
periodically,

the Destiny Dial clicks
to that space
called Community.

Then all the world
celebrates
and weeps-
tears
which sparkle
and reflect
each hope,
each dream;

when we all plant
our Heart Flower Seeds
in the garden
hoping for the Future
which heals.

Not Miracles
but Peace,
not Riches;
but Shared Prosperity;

not no fear
but lessened anxiety.

America is an Ideal.

Every once in a while
She produces that hand
which re-lights the torch
of Lady Liberty
near extinguished by extremity;

a new hand which reaches out
to millions of other hands
which reach back
affirming the simple
retort:
Yes We Can.

Sing now
as others have sung
for phase, line and meter
bring back the music.
only America can sing,

of an era
which maybe,
just maybe
will crack that shut door,
where Hope's light will
shine through
upon child faces
where the children glimpse
new possibilities;
where new shinings
illuminate each child-face
bless each
and their progeny;

all bathed now in that precious prospect
where there is respect
for lives human and non-human.

Where peace is not extinguished
by flesh-mauling war machines.

American is an idea
that won't die;
an experiment
amid swarms of tyrannies;

where sometimes
the Universal Clock Pointer

swings round
to that wondrous space
we call
Liberty;
and Peace;

All this
signaled potentially
by a goat herder's son
who had that same dream.

Democracy is that system
best preserved
because no one knows
where Potential
emanates from;

or lessons that can be learned
from a goats herders son
and that Kansas wife
who had a different dream.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Statue of Liberty

the statue of liberty,
it's either black or white
depends on who you are.
it turned quite black
years ago but refurbished
to look brand new, of course
the last thing it should do
is turn black.
the hackneyed mushy
writings about the relief
our ancestors heaved
while reaching america's shores
upon seeing this statue
is a white lie.
the only thing if at all,
the liberty statue
has come to anything is
that it is still trying hard
to stand up for what it is
- to stand tall in the darkest hours
and the broadest daylight.
its torch is marble and never really meant
to illuminate right from wrong.
it wept silent tears over the mockeries
heaped upon him, that it was the first to greet rusty chains, shackles, corpses...
and skin-covered starved and
all human indignities day in and day out
when it was installed.
amid these, the white angels to the
new land claimed for freedom laughed
and perpetrated similar injustices
that fuelled their flight.
america's freedom has always lay
in the hearts of sincere americans - black or white.
our statue needs a real torch and flame
to brighten up those corners of our hearts that we have kept dark.

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Dynamite

(r. stewart/a. taylor)
Oh, look out baby!
I got a stupid little job
Its driving me insane
With those keyhole people
All they do is complain
About the tattoo on my arm
The ring in my ear
But I dont even care, no no
I just live through the week
And when I see them boys
You know their two-tone suits
Theyre all unimportants
If you need a set of hubcaps
Or a car painted
Girl, why dont you follow me
Its dynamite on friday night
Under the big city lights
Its all right, all right
Yeah dynamite on friday night
Under the big city lights
Its all right, all right
Play some sweet guitar, yeah
Well we meet on the corner
And we talk all night
About our wealth situation
At a rockn roll dive
We dont reach no conclusion
So the conversation turns to wise girls
And more pearls
I got a beat up old mustang
And I painted it black
Theres five in the front seat
And the rest in the back
Cruise up and down sunset
And watch all the jailbait roll by
Yeah its dynamite on friday night
Under the big city lights
Its all right, all right
Yeah yeah, its dynamite on friday night
Under the big city lights
Its all right, its all right
All right, all right, all right
All right
Are you ready baby, bring it on down now
Watch it, well, well, well
Listen, one of these days
And it wont be long
Gonna hear that radio
Playing my song
Ill be the darling of masses
No great pretender, not me, yeah yeah
Cause I can play this guitar
Hangin round my neck
Im in love with its power
I believe in its strength
I got a head full of ideas
Its driving me insane
But until then
Its dynamite on friday night
Under the big city lights
Its all right, all right
Yeah dynamite on friday night
Under the big city lights
All right, all right, one time
Its dynamite, oh yes its dynamite
Its just dynamite on friday night
Its dynamite, its on friday night
Oh friday night
Its all right, all right, wired
Its dynamite on friday night
Under the big city lights
Its all right, all right
All together ...

song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Union and Liberty

FLAG of the heroes who left us their glory,
Borne through their battle-fields' thunder and flame,
Blazoned in song and illumined in story,
Wave o'er us all who inherit their fame!