A Contemplation
Indulg'd by ev'ry active thought
When upwards they wou'd fly
Nor can Ambition be a fault
If plac'd above the sky
When humbld first we meekly crave
Remission for the past
We from the fore-tasts which we have
May guesse our Joys at last
Then let my Contemplation soar
And Heav'n my Subject be
Though low on Earth in nature poor
Some prospect we may see
And now that scene before me stands
And large Possessions there
Where none usurps anothers Lands {1}
And Theives we do not fear
All Care all Sorrow all Surprise
Fly from that World of peace
Where tears are wip'd from clouded Eyes
And Sighs for ever cease
Decay or Sicknesse find no place
In that untainted Air
But still th'incorruptable Face {2}
Shall as at first be fair
Agility in pace or flight
The Blessed shall convey
Where e're the Lamb more fair then light {3}
Shall lead the radiant way
Whilst Praises in Seraphick Sounds {4}
The blisful road shall trace
And musick seem to passe the bounds
Even of unbounded Space
Such balmy Odours shall disperse
As from the Bridegroom's pores {5}
The holy Canticles rehearse {6}
Fell on the Bolts and Doors
When to his Spouse the well belov'd
More white then Jordans Flocks {7}
Spake whilest her hand the Barrs remov'd
And dew-drops fill'd his locks
The Crosse shall there triumphant rise
And ev'ry Eye shall scan
That promis'd Ensign in the skies
Close by the Son of Man
With Christ there Charles's Crown shall meet {8}
Which Martirdom adorns
And prostrate lye beneath his feet
My Coronet of Thorns
The Lord to whom my life is joyn'd
For Conscience here opprest
Shall there full retribution find
And none his Claimes molest
Hypocrisy and feign'd pretence
To cover foul Dissigns
Shall blusshing fly as far from thence
As to the deepest Mines
We there shall know the use of Foes
Whom here we have forgiven
When we shall thank them for those woes
Which pav'd our way to Heaven
There all good things that we have mist
With Int'rest shall return
Whilst those who have each wish possest
Shall for that fullnesse mourn
There Coventry of Tufton's Line {9}
For piety renown'd
Shall in transcending virtues Shine
And Equally be Crown'd
Around her shall the Chains be spread
Of Captives she has freed
And ev'ry Mouth that she has fed
Shall testify the deed
Whilst Scools supplied to mend our youth
Shall on the List be shown
A Daughter and a Mother both
In Her the Church shall own
The Gospell crosse the seas rehearst
By her diffusive aid
And fifty-thousand pounds dispers'd
Shall there be largely paid
My Heart by her supporting Love
In all its Cares upheld
For that, to see her Crown improve
With transports shall be fill'd
From Gratitude what graces flow
What endlesse pleasures spring
From Prayers whilst we remain below
Above whilst Praise we Sing
And Mammon wert thou well employ'd {10}
What Mansions might be wonne
Whilst Woolsey's Pallace lyes destroy'd {11}
And Marlbrough's is not done. {12}
Whilst to this Heav'n my Soul Aspires
All Suff'rings here are light
He travells pleas'd who but desires
A Sweet Repose at Night.
poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Sonnet XL: But Love
But love whilst that thou mayst be lov'd again,
Now whilst thy May hath fill'd thy lap with flowers;
Now, whilst thy beauty bears without a stain,
Now use thy Summer smiles ere Winter lours.
And whilst thou spread'st unto the rising sun,
The fairest flower that ever saw the light,
Now joy thy time before thy sweet be done;
And, Delia, think thy morning must have night,
And that thy brightness sets at length to west,
When thou wilt close up that which now thou showest,
And think the same becomes thy fading best
Which then shall hide it most and cover lowest.
Men do not weigh the stalk for that it was;
When once they find her flower, her glory pass.
poem by Samuel Daniel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Life's Progress
How gayly is at first begun
Our Life's uncertain Race!
Whilst yet that sprightly Morning Sun,
With which we just set out to run
Enlightens all the Place.
How smiling the World's Prospect lies
How tempting to go through !
Not Canaan to the Prophet's Eyes,
From Pisgah with a sweet Surprize,
Did more inviting shew.
How promising's the Book of Fate,
Till thoroughly understood!
Whilst partial Hopes such Lots create,
As may the youthful Fancy treat
With all that's Great and Good.
How soft the first Ideas prove,
Which wander through our Minds!
How full the Joys, how free the Love,
Which do's that early Season move;
As Flow'rs the Western Winds!
Our Sighs are then but Vernal Air;
But April–drops our Tears,
Which swiftly passing, all grows Fair,
Whilst Beauty compensates our Care,
And Youth each Vapour clears.
But oh! too soon, alas, we climb;
Scarce feeling we ascend
The gently rising Hill of Time,
From whence with Grief we see that Prime,
And all its Sweetness end.
The Die now cast, our Station known,
Fond Expectation past;
The Thorns, which former Days had sown,
To Crops of late Repentance grown,
Thro' which we toil at last.
Whilst ev'ry Care's a driving Harm,
That helps to bear us down;
Which faded Smiles no more can charm,
But ev'ry Tear's a Winter-Storm,
And ev'ry Look's a Frown.
Till with succeeding Ills opprest,
For Joys we hop'd to find;
By Age too, rumpl'd and undrest,
We gladly sinking down to rest,
Leave following Crouds behind.
poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mountain's grief
Have I ever wept on a mountain's grief?
The sadness so profound, yet so majestic
That thy strongest heart bore since thou wert born
What is so immortal in a grief that finds a spring to express?
Just a solace, an easing out of a pine
The greatest grief in this world
is sculptured on you
So thou stands still, watching forever
Whilst the rest of the world weep
So the river floats on God's tears
Whilst He mourns on thy grief
So the birds sing in melody
Whilst thy heart burns in pain
So the wild rains thunder
Whilst the saddest quake in your heart erupts
In a wave around all thy moist rocks
Copyright: Shamik Bose 2009
poem by Shamik Bose
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mutability - II.
I.
The flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow dies;
All that we wish to stay
Tempts and then flies.
What is this world’s delight?
Lightning that mocks the night,
Brief even as bright.
II.
Virtue, how frail it is!
Friendship how rare!
Love, how it sells poor bliss
For proud despair!
But we, though soon they fall,
Survive their joy, and all
Which ours we call.
III.
Whilst skies are blue and bright,
Whilst flowers are gay,
Whilst eyes that change ere night
Make glad the day;
Whilst yet the calm hours creep,
Dream thou—and from thy sleep
Then wake to weep.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
An EPISTLE From A Gentleman To Madam Deshouliers
URANIA, whom the Town admires,
Whose Wit and Beauty share our Praise;
This fair URANIA who inspires
A thousand Joys a thousand ways,
She, who cou'd with a Glance convey
Favours, that had my Hopes outdone,
Has lent me Money on that Day,
Which our Acquaintance first begun.
Nor with the Happiness I taste,
Let any jealous Doubts contend:
Her Friendship is secure to last,
Beginning where all others end.
And thou, known Cheat! upheld by Law,
Thou Disappointer of the craving Mind,
BASSETTE, who thy Original dost draw
From Venice (by uncertain Seas confin'd);
Author of Murmurs, and of Care,
Of pleasing Hopes, concluding in Despair:
To thee my strange Felicity I owe,
From thy Oppression did this Succour flow.
Less had I gained, had'st thou propitious been,
Who better by my Loss hast taught me how to Win.
Yet tell me, my transported Brain!
(whose Pride this Benefit awakes)
Know'st thou, what on this Chance depends?
And are we not exalted thus in vain,
Whilst we observe the Money which she lends,
But not, alas! the Heart she takes,
The fond Engagements, and the Ties
Her fatal Bounty does impose,
Who makes Reprisals, with her Eyes,
For what her gen'rous Hand bestows?
And tho' I quickly can return
Those useful Pieces, which she gave;
Can I again, or wou'd I have
That which her Charms have from me borne?
Yet let us quit th' obliging Score;
And whilst we borrow'd Gold restore,
Whilst readily we own the Debt,
And Gratitude before her set
In its approved and fairest Light;
Let her effectually be taught
By that instructive, harmless Slight,
That also in her turn she ought
(Repaying ev'ry tender Thought)
Kindness with Kindness to requite.
poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To The Honourable T. H. Esq; On the Death Of His Daughter
WHILE deep you mourn beneath the cypress-shade
The hand of Death, and your dear daughter
laid
In dust, whose absence gives your tears to flow,
And racks your bosom with incessant woe,
Let Recollection take a tender part,
Assuage the raging tortures of your heart,
Still the wild tempest of tumultuous grief,
And pour the heav'nly nectar of relief:
Suspend the sigh, dear Sir, and check the groan,
Divinely bright your daughter's Virtues shone:
How free from scornful pride her gentle mind,
Which ne'er its aid to indigence declin'd!
Expanding free, it sought the means to prove
Unfailing charity, unbounded love!
She unreluctant flies to see no more
Her dear-lov'd parents on earth's dusky shore:
Impatient heav'n's resplendent goal to gain,
She with swift progress cuts the azure plain,
Where grief subsides, where changes are no more,
And life's tumultuous billows cease to roar;
She leaves her earthly mansion for the skies,
Where new creations feast her wond'ring eyes.
To heav'n's high mandate cheerfully resign'd
She mounts, and leaves the rolling globe behind;
She, who late wish'd that Leonard might return,
Has ceas'd to languish, and forgot to mourn;
To the same high empyreal mansions come,
She joins her spouse, and smiles upon the tomb:
And thus I hear her from the realms above:
"Lo! this the kingdom of celestial love!
"Could ye, fond parents, see our present bliss,
"How soon would you each sigh, each fear dismiss?
"Amidst unutter'd pleasures whilst I play
"In the fair sunshine of celestial day,
"As far as grief affects an happy soul
"So far doth grief my better mind controul,
"To see on earth my aged parents mourn,
"And secret wish for T-----! to return:
"Let brighter scenes your ev'ning-hours employ:
"Converse with heav'n, and taste the promis'd joy"
poem by Phillis Wheatley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Dialogue. Lute And Voice
L. Sing, Laura, sing, whilst silent are the sphears,
And all the eyes of Heaven are turn'd to ears.
V. Touch thy dead wood, and make each living tree
Unchain its feet, take arms, and follow thee.
CHORUS.
L. Sing. V. Touch. 0 Touch. L. 0 Sing.
BOTH. It is the souls, souls sole offering.
V. Touch the divinity of thy chords, and make
Each heart string tremble, and each sinew shake.
L. Whilst with your voyce you rarifie the air,
None but an host of angels hover here.
CHORUS. SING, TOUCH, &c.
V. Touch thy soft lute, and in each gentle thread
The lyon and the panther captive lead.
L. Sing, and in heav'n inthrone deposed love,
Whilst angels dance, and fiends in order move.
DOUBLE CHORUS.
What sacred charm may this then be
In harmonie,
That thus can make the angels wild,
The devils mild,
And teach low hell to heav'n to swell,
And the high heav'n to stoop to hell?
poem by Richard Lovelace
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Don’t Wait Too Long
Lets seek for life whilst yet there’s time
Let’s learn our God to fear
Let’s put Him first our service prime
Whilst still The Christ is near
How soon Salvation’s Door may shut
How swiftly hope could cease
Life’s line to most would then be cut
And evil will increase
Foolishly, while the world turns blind
Religion’s running wild
Seeking to rob, change peoples mind
And kill those reconciled
The dragon’s loose the beast is free
The jaws of hell gape wide
Blessed is the child who’s eyes can see
And pray God’s Fire inside
On these God’s Light will surely rise
On these God’s Lamb will call
Truth will reveal demonic lies
And death’s foul chains will fall
He’ll graft them in The Living Vine
Give Living Bread to eat
He’ll fill their cups with Living Wine
And raise to God’s elite
So don’t be fooled and don’t be scared
Beware to whom you turn
Trust in The One who’s always cared
And ever shows concern
Trust in The Christ His awesome love
Trust in His arms still wide
Trust in The King of Heaven above
Calling to rise inside
poem by Michael P. Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Invitation
DAMON.
Haste! Sylvia! haste, my charming Maid!
Let's leave these fashionable toys;
Let's seek the shelter of some shade,
And revel in ne'er fading joys.
See spring in liv'ry gay appears,
And winter's chilly blasts are fled;
Each grove its leafy honours rears,
And meads their lovely verdure spread!
SYLVIA.
Yes Damon, glad I'll quit the town,
Its gaities now languid seem;
Then sweets to luxury unknown
We'll taste, and sip th' untainted stream.
In Summer's sultry noon-tide heat,
I'll lead thee to the shady grove;
There hush thy cares, or pleas'd repeat
Those vows that won my soul to love.
DAMON.
When o'er the mountain peeps the dawn,
And round her ruddy beauties play,
I'll wake my Love to view the lawn,
Or hear the warblers hall the day.
But, without thee, the rising morn
In vain awakes the cooling breeze,
In vain does nature's face adorn;
Without my Sylvia nought can please.
SYLVIA.
At night, when universal gloom
Hides the bright prospect from our view,
When the gay groves give up their bloom,
And verdant meads their lovely hue;
Tho' fleeting spectres round me move,
When in thy circling arms I'm prest,
I'll hush my rising fears with love,
And sink in slumber on thy breast.
DAMON.
The new-blown rose, whilst on its leaves
Yet the bright scented dew-drops found,
Pleas'd on thy bosom, whilst it heaves,
Shall shake its heav'nly fragrance round.
Then mingled sweets the sense shall raise,
Then mingled beauties catch the eye;
What pleasure on such charms to gaze!
What rapture mid such sweets to lie!
SYLVIA.
How sweet thy words!--but, Damon cease,
Nor strive to fix me ever here;
Too well you know these accents please,
That oft have fill'd my ravish'd ear.
Come, lead me to these promis'd joys,
That dwelt so lately on thy tongue;
Direct me by thy well known voice,
And calm my transports with thy song!
poem by Thomas Godfrey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Appology
'Tis true I write and tell me by what Rule
I am alone forbid to play the fool
To follow through the Groves a wand'ring Muse
And fain'd Idea's for my pleasures chuse
Why shou'd it in my Pen be held a fault
Whilst Mira paints her face, to paint a thought
Whilst Lamia to the manly Bumper flys
And borrow'd Spiritts sparkle in her Eyes
Why shou'd itt be in me a thing so vain
To heat with Poetry my colder Brain?
But I write ill and there-fore shou'd forbear
Does Flavia cease now at her fortieth year
In ev'ry Place to lett that face be seen
Which all the Town rejected at fifteen
Each Woman has her weaknesse; mind [sic] indeed
Is still to write tho' hopelesse to succeed
Nor to the Men is this so easy found
Ev'n in most Works with which the Witts abound
(So weak are all since our first breach with Heav'n)
Ther's lesse to be Applauded than forgiven.
poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To the Evening Star
Star that bringest home the bee,
And sett’st the weary labourer free!
If any star shed peace, ‘tis thou,
That send ‘st it from above,
Appearing when Heaven’s breath and brow
Are sweet as hers we love.
Come to the luxuriant skies,
Whilst the landscape’s odours rise,
Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard,
And songs when toil is done,
From cottages whose smoke unstirr’d
Curls yellow in the sun.
Star of love’s soft interviews.
Parted lovers on thee muse;
Their remembrancer in heaven
Of thrilling vows thou art,
Too delicious to be riven
By absence from the heart.
poem by Thomas Campbell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Song to the Evening Star
Star that bringest home the bee,
And sett'st the weary labourer free!
If any star shed peace, 'tis thou,
That send'st it from above,
Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow
Are sweet as hers we love.
Come to the luxuriant skies
Whilst the landscape's odours rise,
Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard,
And songs, when toil is done,
From cottages whose smoke unstirred
Curls yellow in the sun.
Star of lover's soft interviews,
Parted lovers on thee muse;
Their remembrancer in heaven
Of thrilling vows thou art,
Too delicious to be riven
By absence from the heart.
poem by Thomas Campbell
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
We Need But Ask
Its sad to see our neighbours fall
To see our families fail
Its sad that they reject God’s call
And spend their lives in jail
This age of car and aeroplane
Of spaceships to the moon
Man’s wanton lust and selfish gain
Though Christ is coming soon
They’ve been to school they’ve grown so wise
But still The Truth they doubt
Their selfish pride has closed their eyes
To what this life’s about
They fail to see the facts at hand
The devil’s robbed their sight
Whilst heads are stuck in shifting sand
They fail to see The Light
No thought of death and coming wrath
No thought of Heaven’s will
Choosing instead the devil’s path
They hope life’s hopes to fill
Whilst Satan yet controls their mind
Whilst evil fills their heart
They’ll wander lost and total blind
And have from life no part
God’s Son alone can save their soul
God’s Son alone can heal
God’s Son alone can make them whole
If when to Him they kneel
It matters not how deep we’ve trod
How shameful yet we live
We need but seek The Son of God
And ask Him to forgive
poem by Michael P. Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In Allusion To The French Song. N'entendez Vous Pas Ce Language
CHORUS.
THEN UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE)
THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE?
I.
How often have my tears
Invaded your soft ears,
And dropp'd their silent chimes
A thousand thousand times?
Whilst echo did your eyes,
And sweetly sympathize;
But that the wary lid
Their sluces did forbid.
Cho. THEN UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE)
THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE?
II.
My arms did plead my wound,
Each in the other bound;
Volleys of sighs did crowd,
And ring my griefs alowd;
Grones, like a canon-ball,
Batter'd the marble wall,
That the kind neighb'ring grove
Did mutiny for love.
Cho. THEN UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE)
THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE?
III.
The rheth'rick of my hand
Woo'd you to understand;
Nay, in our silent walk
My very feet would talk;
My knees were eloquent,
And spake the love I meant;
But deaf unto that ayr,
They, bent, would fall in prayer.
Cho. YET UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE)
THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE?
IV.
No? Know, then, I would melt
On every limb I felt,
And on each naked part
Spread my expanded heart,
That not a vein of thee
But should be fill'd with mee.
Whilst on thine own down, I
Would tumble, pant, and dye.
Cho. YOU UNDERSTAND NOT THIS (FAIR CHOICE);
THIS LANGUAGE WANTS BOTH TONGUE AND VOICE.
poem by Richard Lovelace
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet XIII: Letters and Lines
To the Shadow
Letters and lines we see are soon defac'd,
Metals do waste and fret with canker's rust,
The diamond shall once consume to dust,
And freshest colors with foul stains disgrac'd;
Paper and ink can paint but naked words,
To write with blood of force offends the sight;
And if with tears I find them all too light,
And sighs and signs a silly hope affotds,
O sweetest shadow, how thou serv'st my turn,
Which still shalt be, as long as there is sun,
Nor, whilst the world is, never shalt be done,
Whilst moon shall shine or any fire shall burn;
That everything whence shadow doth proceed
May in my shadow my love's story read.
poem by Michael Drayton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Song from Abdelazar
Love in fantastic triumph sat,
Whilst bleeding hearts around him flow'd,
For whom fresh pains he did create,
And strange tyrannic power he shew'd;
From thy bright eyes he took his fire,
Which round about in sport he hurl'd;
But 'twas from mine he took desire
Enough to undo the amorous world.
From me he took his sighs and tears,
From thee his pride and cruelty;
From me his languishments and fears,
And every killing dart from thee;
Thus thou and I the God have arm'd,
And set him up a Deity;
But my poor heart alone is harm'd,
Whilst thine the victor is, and free.
poem by Aphra Behn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Song : 'Love Armed
Love in fantastic triumph sat,
Whilst bleeding hearts around him flow'd,
For whom fresh pains he did create,
And strange tyrannic power he shew'd;
From thy bright eyes he took his fire,
Which round about in sport he hurl'd;
But 'twas from mine he took desire
Enough to undo the amorous world.
From me he took his sighs and tears,
From thee his pride and cruelty;
From me his languishments and fears,
And every killing dart from thee;
Thus thou and I the God have arm'd,
And set him up a Deity;
But my poor heart alone is harm'd,
Whilst thine the victor is, and free.
poem by Aphra Behn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Hog, The Sheep, And Goat, Carrying To A FAIR
Who does not wish, ever to judge aright,
And, in the Course of Life's Affairs,
To have a quick, and far extended Sight,
Tho' it too often multiplies his Cares?
And who has greater Sense, but greater Sorrow shares?
This felt the Swine, now carrying to the Knife;
And whilst the Lamb and silent Goat
In the same fatal Cart lay void of Strife,
He widely stretches his foreboding Throat,
Deaf'ning the easy Crew with his outragious Note.
The angry Driver chides th'unruly Beast,
And bids him all this Noise forbear;
Nor be more loud, nor clamorous than the rest,
Who with him travel'd to the neighb'ring Fair.
And quickly shou'd arrive, and be unfetter'd there.
This, quoth the Swine, I do believe, is true,
And see we're very near the Town;
Whilst these poor Fools of short, and bounded View,
Think 'twill be well, when you have set them down,
And eas'd One of her Milk, the Other of her Gown.
But all the dreadful Butchers in a Row,
To my far-searching Thoughts appear,
Who know indeed, we to the Shambles go,
Whilst I, whom none but Belzebub wou'd shear,
Nor but his Dam wou'd milk, must for my Carcase fear.
But tell me then, will it prevent thy Fate?
The rude unpitying Farmer cries;
If not, the Wretch who tastes his Suff'rings late,
Not He, who thro' th'unhappy Future prys,
Must of the Two be held most Fortunate and Wise.
poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On The Dark Height of Jura
I.
Ghosts of the dead! have I not heard your yelling
Rise on the night-rolling breath of the blast,
When o’er the dark aether the tempest is swelling,
And on eddying whirlwind the thunder-peal passed?
II.
For oft have I stood on the dark height of Jura
Which frowns on the valley that opens beneath;
Oft have I braved the chill night-tempest's fury,
Whilst around me, I thought, echoed murmurs of death.
III.
And now, whilst the winds of the mountain are howling,
O father! thy voice seems to strike on mine ear;
In air whilst the tide of the night-storm is rolling,
It breaks on the pause of the elements' jar.
IV.
On the wing of the whirlwind which roars o'er the mountain
Perhaps rides the ghost of my sire who is dead:
On the mist of the tempest which hangs o'er the fountain,
Whilst a wreath of dark vapour encircles his head.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Love Arm'd
Love in Fantastique Triumph satt,
Whilst bleeding Hearts around him flow'd,
For whom Fresh pains he did create,
And strange Tryanic power he show'd;
From thy Bright Eyes he took his fire,
Which round about, in sport he hurl'd;
But 'twas from mine he took desire,
Enough to undo the Amorous World.
From me he took his sighs and tears,
From thee his Pride and Crueltie;
From me his Languishments and Feares,
And every Killing Dart from thee;
Thus thou and I, the God have arm'd,
And sett him up a Deity;
But my poor Heart alone is harm'd,
Whilst thine the Victor is, and free.
poem by Aphra Behn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!