A Letter To Dafnis April: 2d 1685
This to the Crown, and blessing of my life,
The much lov'd husband, of a happy wife.
To him, whose constant passion found the art
To win a stubborn, and ungratefull heart;
And to the World, by tend'rest proof discovers
They err, who say that husbands can't be lovers.
With such return of passion, as is due,
Daphnis I love, Daphnis my thoughts persue,
Daphnis, my hopes, my joys, are bounded all in you:
Ev'n I, for Daphnis, and my promise sake,
What I in women censure, undertake.
But this from love, not vanity, proceeds;
You know who writes; and I who 'tis that reads.
Judge not my passion, by my want of skill,
Many love well, though they express itt ill;
And I your censure cou'd with pleasure bear,
Wou'd you but soon return, and speak itt here.
poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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To A Husband
This is to the crown and blessing of my life,
The much loved husband of a happy wife;
To him whose constant passion found the art
To win a stubborn and ungrateful heart,
And to the world by tenderest proof discovers
They err, who say that husbands can't be lovers.
With such return of passion, as is due,
Daphnis I love, Daphinis my thoughts pursue;
Daphnis, my hopes and joys are bounded all in you.
Even I, for Daphnis' and my promise' sake,
What I in woman censure, undertake.
But this from love, not vanity proceeds;
You know who writes, and I who 'tis that reads.
Judge not my passion by my want of skill:
Many love well, though they express it ill;
And I your censure could with pleasure bear,
Would you but soon return, and speak it here.
poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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A Countryman's Wooing
THE MAIDEN.
How fell sage Helen? through a swain like thee.
DAPHNIS.
Nay the true Helen's just now kissing me.
THE MAIDEN.
Satyr, ne'er boast: 'what's idler than a kiss?'
DAPHNIS.
Yet in such pleasant idling there is bliss.
THE MAIDEN.
I'll wash my mouth: where go thy kisses then?
DAPHNIS.
Wash, and return it-to be kissed again.
THE MAIDEN.
Go kiss your oxen, and not unwed maids.
DAPHNIS.
Ne'er boast; for beauty is a dream that fades.
THE MAIDEN.
Past grapes are grapes: dead roses keep their smell.
DAPHNIS.
Come to yon olives: I have a tale to tell.
THE MAIDEN.
Not I: you fooled me with smooth words before.
DAPHNIS.
Come to yon elms, and hear me pipe once more.
THE MAIDEN.
Pipe to yourself: your piping makes me cry.
DAPHNIS.
A maid, and flout the Paphian? Fie, oh fie!
THE MAIDEN.
She's naught to me, if Artemis' favour last.
DAPHNIS.
Hush, ere she smite you and entrap you fast.
THE MAIDEN.
And let her smite me, trap me as she will!
DAPHNIS.
Your Artemis shall be your saviour still?
THE MAIDEN.
Unhand me! What, again? I'll tear your lip.
DAPHNIS.
Can you, could damsel e'er, give Love the slip?
THE MAIDEN.
You are his bondslave, but not I by Pan!
DAPHNIS.
I doubt he'll give thee to a worser man.
THE MAIDEN.
Many have wooed me, but I fancied none.
DAPHNIS.
Till among many came the destined one.
THE MAIDEN.
Wedlock is woe. Dear lad, what can I do?
DAPHNIS.
Woe it is not, but joy and dancing too.
THE MAIDEN.
Wives dread their husbands: so I've heard it said.
DAPHNIS.
Nay, they rule o'er them. What does woman dread?
THE MAIDEN.
Then children-Eileithya's dart is keen.
DAPHNIS.
But the deliverer, Artemis, is your queen.
THE MAIDEN.
And bearing children all our grace destroys.
DAPHNIS.
Bear them and shine more lustrous in your boys.
THE MAIDEN.
Should I say yea, what dower awaits me then?
DAPHNIS.
Thine are my cattle, thine this glade and glen.
THE MAIDEN.
Swear not to wed, then leave me in my woe?
DAPHNIS.
Not I by Pan, though thou should'st bid me go.
THE MAIDEN.
And shall a cot be mine, with farm and fold!
DAPHNIS.
Thy cot's half-built, fair wethers range this wold.
THE MAIDEN.
What, what to my old father must I say?
DAPHNIS.
Soon as he hears my name he'll not say nay.
THE MAIDEN.
Speak it: by e'en a name we're oft beguiled.
DAPHNIS.
I'm Daphnis, Lycid's and Nomaea's child.
THE MAIDEN.
Well-born indeed: and not less so am I.
DAPHNIS.
I know-Menalcas' daughter may look high.
THE MAIDEN.
That grove, where stands your sheepfold, shew me please.
DAPHNIS.
Nay look, how green, how tall my cypress-trees.
THE MAIDEN.
Graze, goats: I go to learn the herdsman's trade.
DAPHNIS.
Feed, bulls: I shew my copses to my maid.
THE MAIDEN.
Satyr, what mean you? You presume o'ermuch.
DAPHNIS.
This waist is round, and pleasant to the touch.
THE MAIDEN.
By Pan, I'm like to swoon! Unhand me pray!
DAPHNIS.
Why be so timorous? Pretty coward, stay.
THE MAIDEN.
This bank is wet: you've soiled my pretty gown.
DAPHNIS.
See, a soft fleece to guard it I put down.
THE MAIDEN.
And you've purloined my sash. What can this mean?
DAPHNIS.
This sash I'll offer to the Paphian queen.
THE MAIDEN.
Stay, miscreant-some one comes-I heard a noise.
DAPHNIS.
'Tis but the green trees whispering of our joys.
THE MAIDEN.
You've torn my plaidie, and I am half unclad.
DAPHNIS.
Anon I'll give thee a yet ampler plaid.
THE MAIDEN.
Generous just now, you'll one day grudge me bread.
DAPHNIS.
Ah! for thy sake my life-blood I could shed.
THE MAIDEN.
Artemis, forgive! Thy eremite breaks her vow.
DAPHNIS.
Love, and Love's mother, claim a calf and cow.
THE MAIDEN.
A woman I depart, my girlhood o'er.
DAPHNIS.
Be wife, be mother; but a girl no more.
Thus interchanging whispered talk the pair,
Their faces all aglow, long lingered there.
At length the hour arrived when they must part.
With downcast eyes, but sunshine in her heart,
She went to tend her flock; while Daphnis ran
Back to his herded bulls, a happy man.
poem by Theocritus
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Appeal
Daphnis dearest, wherefore weave me
Webs of lies lest truth should grieve me?
I could pardon much, believe me:
Dower me, Daphnis, or bereave me,
Kiss me, kill me, love me, leave me,-
Damn me, dear, but don't deceive me!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Passion
A passion found, is a passion to keep
A passion felt, is a passion to be kept
Poetry from the heart, poetry from the soul,
Poetry I have always felt,
There are many passions in
this world but none like this one, which you can
always return too when you feel lost or
feel you have something to say
I love thee yet, I love thee more
but with words I can express thee hence more
Sometimes life feels too complex to find the one with the same passion as you share,
Someone that understands you for you, not only the external you, but the inner you,
Someone that understands your thoughts and passions in life; pleasure is one thing but
Once that desire for pleasure with that person has been diminished,
what is there, nothing, a desire gone and lost,
yet to say I yearn, and can't wait till I find the one that shares the same passion and desires as I do
poem by Coker George
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Pastorals
DAPHNIS. MENALCAS. A SHEPHERD.
SHEPHERD.
A song from Daphnis! Open he the lay,
He open: and Menalcas follow next:
While the calves suck, and with the barren kine
The young bulls graze, or roam knee-deep in leaves,
And ne'er play truant. But a song from thee,
Daphnis-anon Menalcas will reply.
DAPHNIS.
Sweet is the chorus of the calves and kine,
And sweet the herdsman's pipe. But none may vie
With Daphnis; and a rush-strown bed is mine
Near a cool rill, where carpeted I lie
On fair white goatskins. From a hill-top high
The westwind swept me down the herd entire,
Cropping the strawberries: whence it comes that I
No more heed summer, with his breath of fire,
Than lovers heed the words of mother and of sire.
Thus Daphnis: and Menalcas answered thus:-
MENALCAS.
O Ætna, mother mine! A grotto fair,
Scooped in the rocks, have I: and there I keep
All that in dreams men picture! Treasured there
Swathed in whose wool from top to toe I sleep.
The fire that boils my pot, with oak or beech
Is piled-dry beech-logs when the snow lies deep;
And storm and sunshine, I disdain them each
As toothless sires a nut, when broth is in their reach.
I clapped applause, and straight produced my gifts:
A staff for Daphnis-'twas the handiwork
Of nature, in my father's acres grown:
Yet might a turner find no fault therewith.
I gave his mate a goodly spiral-shell:
We stalked its inmate on the Icarian rocks
And ate him, parted fivefold among five.
He blew forthwith the trumpet on his shell.
Tell, woodland Muse-and then farewell-what song
I, the chance-comer, sang before those twain.
SHEPHERD.
Ne'er let a falsehood scarify my tongue!
Crickets with crickets, ants with ants agree,
And hawks with hawks: and music sweetly sung,
Beyond all else, is grateful unto me.
Filled aye with music may my dwelling be!
Not slumber, not the bursting forth of Spring
So charms me, nor the flowers that tempt the bee,
As those sweet Sisters. He, on whom they fling
One gracious glance, is proof to Circe's blandishing.
poem by Theocritus
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The Drawn Battle
Daphnis the herdsman and Damoetas once
Had driven, Aratus, to the selfsame glen.
One chin was yellowing, one shewed half a beard.
And by a brookside on a summer noon
The pair sat down and sang; but Daphnis led
The song, for Daphnis was the challenger.
DAPHNIS.
'See! Galatea pelts thy flock with fruit,
And calls their master 'Lack-love,' Polypheme.
Thou mark'st her not, blind, blind, but pipest aye
Thy wood-notes. See again, she smites thy dog:
Sea-ward the fleeced flocks' sentinel peers and barks,
And, through the clear wave visible to her still,
Careers along the gently babbling beach.
Look that he leap not on the maid new-risen
From her sea-bath and rend her dainty limbs.
She fools thee, near or far, like thistle-waifs
In hot sweet summer: flies from thee when wooed,
Unwooed pursues thee: risks all moves to win;
For, Polypheme, things foul seem fair to Love.'
And then, due prelude made, Damoetas sang.
DAMOETAS.
'I marked her pelt my dog, I was not blind,
By Pan, by this my one my precious eye
That bounds my vision now and evermore!
But Telemus the Seer, be his the woe,
His and his children's, that he promised me!
Yet do I too tease her; I pass her by,
Pretend to woo another:-and she hears
(Heaven help me!) and is faint with jealousy;
And hurrying from the sea-wave as if stung,
Scans with keen glance my grotto and my flock.
'Twas I hissed on the dog to bark at her;
For, when I loved her, he would whine and lay
His muzzle in her lap. These things she'll note
Mayhap, and message send on message soon:
But I will bar my door until she swear
To make me on this isle fair bridal-bed.
And I am less unlovely than men say.
I looked into the mere (the mere was calm),
And goodly seemed my beard, and goodly seemed
My solitary eye, and, half-revealed,
My teeth gleamed whiter than the Parian marl.
Thrice for good luck I spat upon my robe:
That learned I of the hag Cottytaris-her
Who fluted lately with Hippocooen's mowers.'
Damoetas then kissed Daphnis lovingly:
One gave a pipe and one a goodly flute.
Straight to the shepherd's flute and herdsman's pipe
The younglings bounded in the soft green grass:
And neither was o'ermatched, but matchless both.
poem by Theocritus
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Nothing Wrong
Sex is ridden with passion
When lovers come together
Or return after a long gap.
Sex is uninhibited
When the spouses make love
With mutual trust prevailing.
Sex gets cultivated passion
When a desire still tepid
Grows into passion in the proceeds.
Sex brings transferred passion
When a man works with his thoughts
On another woman he wants to mate
Or when a woman does with her thoughts
On another man she desired to get.
Sex gives host’s gratifications
When one subjects a low woman
Or one entertains a low man.
Oral sex is the peak of pleasure,
With man’s tongue on woman’s groin
And woman’s mouth under man’s groin.
Sex is met by masturbation
By both genders at their will,
They fantasizing their sexy persons.
The forbidden sex is the hottest
Where man feels the spirit of conquest
And the woman the spirit of liberty.
Sex with sex workers
Delivers an outlet for passion
For varieties and liberality.
Sex with same gender is a substitute,
Where people seek satisfaction
That they fail to get in normal way.
Experiencing sex is bliss.
Attaining it is the drive.
Sex finds nothing wrong.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The things I love with a passion
I rock and roll with passion
I talk out my soul with a passion
I eat good food with passion
I defeat bad mood with a passion
I sleep well with passion
I weep hell with a passion
I dream endlessly with passion
I gleam ceaselessly with a passion
I aim for money with passion
I do the same for honey with a passion
I listen carefully with passion
I glisten dutifully with a passion
I search for fame with passion
I research to blame with a passion
I walk everyday with passion
I talk and play with a passion
I embrace life with passion
I face nightlife with a passion
I laugh out with passion
I chaffe about with a passion
I cook with others with passion
I look at mothers with a passion
I touch gently with passion
I clutch tightly with a passion
I work hard with a passion
I rock mad with a passion
I gear up goals with passion
I stir up roles with a passion
I make friends with passion
I take weekends with a passion
I love kissing with passion
I love teasing with a passion
I make love with passion
I take from above with a passion
If push comes to shove
Label me old fashioned
For these are things I caption
In life with all my passion
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Daphnis And Chloe
Daphnis must from Chloe part:
Now is come the dismal Hour
That must all his Hopes devour,
All his Labour, all his Art.
Nature, her own Sexes foe,
Long had taught her to be coy:
But she neither knew t' enjoy,
Nor yet let her Lover go.
But, with this sad News surpriz'd,
Soon she let that Niceness fall;
And would gladly yield to all,
So it had his stay compriz'd.
Nature so her self does use
To lay by her wonted State,
Left the World should separate;
Sudden Parting closer glews.
He, well read in all the wayes
By which men their Siege maintain,
Knew not that the Fort to gain
Better 'twas the siege to raise.
But he came so full possest
With the Grief of Parting thence,
That he had not so much Sence
As to see he might be blest.
Till Love in her Language breath'd
Words she never spake before;
But then Legacies no more
To a dying Man bequeath'd.
For, Alas, the time was spent,
Now the latest minut's run
When poor Daphnis is undone,
Between Joy and Sorrow rent.
At that Why, that Stay my Dear,
His disorder'd Locks he tare;
And with rouling Eyes did glare,
And his cruel Fate forswear.
As the Soul of one scarce dead,
With the shrieks of Friends aghast,
Looks distracted back in hast,
And then streight again is fled.
So did wretched Daphnis look,
Frighting her he loved most.
At the last, this Lovers Ghost
Thus his Leave resolved took.
Are my Hell and Heaven Joyn'd
More to torture him that dies?
Could departure not suffice,
But that you must then grow kind?
Ah my Chloe how have I
Such a wretched minute found,
When thy Favours should me wound
More than all thy Cruelty?
So to the condemned Wight
The delicious Cup we fill;
And allow him all he will,
For his last and short Delight.
But I will not now begin
Such a Debt unto my Foe;
Nor to my Departure owe
What my Presence could not win.
Absence is too much alone:
Better 'tis to go in peace,
Than my Losses to increase
By a late Fruition.
Why should I enrich my Fate?
'Tis a Vanity to wear,
For my Executioner,
Jewels of so high a rate.
Rather I away will pine
In a manly stubborness
Than be fatted up express
For the Canibal to dine.
Whilst this grief does thee disarm,
All th' Enjoyment of our Love
But the ravishment would prove
Of a Body dead while warm.
And I parting should appear
Like the Gourmand Hebrew dead,
While he Quailes and Manna fed,
And does through the Desert err.
Or the Witch that midnight wakes
For the Fern, whose magick Weed
In one minute casts the Seed.
And invisible him makes.
Gentler times for Love are ment:
Who for parting pleasure strain
Gather Roses in the rain,
Wet themselves and spoil their Sent.
Farewel therefore all the fruit
Which I could from Love receive:
Joy will not with Sorrow weave,
Nor will I this Grief pollute.
Fate I come, as dark, as sad,
As thy Malice could desire;
Yet bring with me all the Fire
That Love in his Torches had.
At these words away he broke;
As who long has praying ly'n,
To his Heads-man makes the Sign,
And receives the parting stroke.
But hence Virgins all beware.
Last night he with Phlogis slept;
This night for Dorinda kept;
And but rid to take the Air.
Yet he does himself excuse;
Nor indeed without a Cause.
For, according to the Lawes,
Why did Chloe once refuse?
poem by Andrew Marvell
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Where Is My Passion
Where is my passion
Far too much pain
Where is my passion
Must I love in vain?
Where is my passion
I need must know
Where is my passion
I want so much to grow
Where is my passion
Lost in your lips
Where is my passion
I feel for your kiss
Where is my passion
Lost in your eyes
Where is my passion
Release me to fly
Where is my passion
There in your hands
Where is my passion
Touch me…expand
Where is my passion
Please…be a man
poem by Fleurette Elaine Harris
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Plastic Passion
Plastic passion is a hard to handle
Plastic passion is a sold out scandal
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is the ladies lover
Plastic passion is the marble mother
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is a diamond delight
Plastic passion is the nadir of night
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is a hycoscine heart
Plastic passion is a transparent tart
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is a gold guarantee
The plastic passion is murdering me
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Without passion
I think and thought
i hoped and wished
i cried and mourned
i yelled and laughed
i screamed in excitement
then i realised it was passion.
Passion is strong
it is intense
it is a great feelin of emotion
love, hate, desire, enthusiasm, fondness, zeal, affection and ardor.
A man without passion is like a man without life.
Yes, i pride in myself, i have life because
i have passion,
i know love
i show affection
i know what it is to be fond of
i can give warmth
i am full of ardor.
Just when i was begining to be exalted by my feelings you came into my life,
i found you in my soul
then i knew what i claimed was passion, was nothing compared to what you gave me.
I came to realise that passion wasn't anything else but a woman.And not just any woman, it was you.
Then i remembered 'a man without passion is a man without life.Without you i'm incomplete, without passion i have no life
Now i can boast of passion of love of life.
Because i have you.
The Passion Fruit
[The Passion Fruit]
An epic Stanza a Dream if Might the cruel fates play tricks on the love longing mind. For Hope was the plant and Passion the fruit of the hearts implore. And love, Love is the Rain of all growth and for everyday a little rain must Fall.
The Dream of Dreams is to be loved in return by the one you dream of most. And so, her love grew for him as she saw the figure of his shadow in the corridor, and heard the deep soothing sound of his voice. And alas, She sought the longing in her eyes would at one point be returned by his. She knew at this point would be a point of no return.
Love can drive you to do incredible things; it seeks the soul, mind, and the spirit. And just as beauty, love is in the eyes of it’s beholder, for each person love comes differently, by the way they receive it, the way they give it, the way they earn it, and the way they see it. Each is its own plant.
For her it was the Passion Fruit.
She showered this fruit with love, and heartened it with hope. At last the fruit was brimming with Passion.
It was the Passion Fruit.
It was filled with Passion, but it was lacking light.
The light of restoration in which she would finally see the longing in his eyes as they were in hers.
And although she filled it with everything else there was no light, and No plant can survive without light.
Without light there is no hope and without hope there is no plant.
The passion in her eyes became a dull place in a bright world. For in her world there was no light in which to see, and no hope for it to be seen.
And so she faded away.
The day she would leave all passion behind, all hope, and all cares, she told him the story of the Passion Fruit. How it loved, laughed, and lived.
The words she said to him before her final farewell were, “When all seems Dark look for Light for there is always Light you just have to find it. Remember Hope was the plant and Passion the heart’s wish, it’s fruit. And love, Love is the Rain of all growth and for everyday a little rain must Fall.”
“But don’t forget light, for without light you cannot see the rain of love, and without the rain, a plant will cease to exist. I have Finally found my light, but alas I have already gone through a dark tunnel.” These words she uttered before she took her last breath.
He never forgot, for secretly she was his passion, his light, and his rain.
He eventually found another, but he would never love her, for there is only one love, for love is jealous of all others. So, he loved but once and the rest was just of like.
On his last breath he said, “I have found my Light, but at the end of a dark tunnel, for there she is waiting for me, my dream of dreams.”
“My Passion Fruit”
(c) 2006
poem by Kelsey Neystel
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Husband And Wife
The world had chafed his spirit proud
By its wearing, crushing strife,
The censure of the thoughtless crowd
Had touched a blameless life;
Like the dove of old, from the water’s foam,
He wearily turned to the ark of home.
Hopes he had cherished with joyous heart,
Had toiled for many a day,
With body and spirit, and patient art,
Like mists had melted away;
And o’er day-dreams vanished, o’er fond hopes flown,
He sat him down to mourn alone.
No, not alone, for soft fingers rest
On his hot and aching brow,
Back the damp hair is tenderly pressed
While a sweet voice whispers low:
“Thy joys have I shared, O my husband true,
And shall I not share thy sorrows too?”
Vain task to resist the loving gaze
That so fondly meets his own,
Revealing a heart that cares for praise
From him and him alone;
And though censure and grief upon him pall,
Unto to her, at least, he is all in all.
What though false friends should turn aside,
Or chill with icy look;
What though he meet the pitying pride,
The proud heart ill can brook;
There are depths of love in one gentle heart,
Whose faith with death alone will part.
Aye! well may thy brow relax its gloom,
For a talisman hast thou
’Gainst hopes that are blighted in their bloom,
’Gainst scornful look or brow—
Her heart is a high and a holy throne
Where monarch supreme thou reignest alone.
Kindly return her tender gaze,
Press closely that little hand,
Whisper fond words and soothing praise—
They are ever at thy command;
It is all the harvest she asks to reap
In return for love as the ocean deep.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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Love, passion and lust
Love demands no right;
Love demands no weight;
Love demands no return.
A mother thus loves.
Passion demands hold;
Passion demands right;
Passion demands return.
A woman can translate it.
Lust finds no ethics;
Lust exudes no fear.
Lust demands no reason.
A man is adept of it.
2202.10.2000, Vijayavada
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I Wish I Knew...
I wish I knew what passion felt like,
To wake up and feel the passion to be happy and to love.
Passion is the eagerness to wake up with the light.
And passion is what fights the dark every night.
I don’t think I have ever known true passion,
But that wont stop me from seeking it like an impossible mission.
To search for the one that will show me that,
True passion is what life’s really about.
poem by Cristina Richardson
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Remember Me When Im Gone
Why I don't know why even how?
How Lovers turn strangers
How all the passion and love
Turn in to ashes just in a while
How your real love flew
How it could be true
The love between me and you
The thing that I've never got
How the love like flower dies
How Would you tell me how
How you could forget the love
For It's sake days and nights breathless stood there
Never got tired of knocking the doors of my heart
love I loved you and lived for your love even after you've gone
Love I loved and I lived your pain
For your sake I used to love your pain
Because my love was real and
Truer than true
No one ever will be loved like The way I loved you
Someday you will comeback
But it'll be too late
never again you'll find me there
A lifetime I'm standing right here
Got tired this heart of mine
Long years alone waited for your return
If I had one more life I would sacrifice for your love
But when the time of leaving comes
There's nothing to do my love
When you come back when I'm gone
you will return home broken
That moment you'll feel how much you've hurt the one who loved you more than her life
I'll go far away taking with me your love and all the memories
Those memories never gone away
Like my shadow always chased my way
Remember me when I'm gone
Because even in my grave I'll always love those smiling green eyes.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Starlight Night
We lay hand in hand, head to head, eye to eye
The stars staring down, as if they were in envy
The moon radiating light upon us, as if it we were a showcase
The passion which was united, a passion of true love
Passion which wrote upon paper, can never portray my passion for you
True passion is like a song, A never ending list of cords and notes
An innovation of a creative mind, written from the soul and heart
A never ending canvas of joys and memories
True passion can never die, it can never fade away, for it lies deep down
You are my true passion, my true calling, my true love
poem by Michael James Kennedy Findlay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spring - The First Pastoral ; or Damon
First in these fields I try the sylvan strains,
Nor blush to sport on Windsor's blissful plains:
Fair Thames, flow gently from thy sacred spring,
While on thy banks Sicilian Muses sing;
Let vernal airs tho' trembling osiers play,
And Albion's cliffs resound the rural lay.
You, that too wise for pride, too good for pow'r,
Enjoy the glory to be great no more,
And carrying with you all the world can boast,
To all the world illustriously are lost!
O let my Muse her slender reed inspire,
Till in your native shades you tune the lyre:
So when the Nightingale to rest removes,
The Thrush may chant to the forsaken groves,
But, charm'd to silence, listens while she sings,
And all th' aerial audience clap their wings.
Soon as the flocks shook off the nightly dews,
Two Swains, whom Love kept wakeful, and the Muse
Pour'd o'er the whitening vale their fleecy care,
Fresh as the morn, and as the season fair:
The dawn now blushing on the mountain's side,
Thus Daphnis spoke, and Strephon thus reply'd.
Daphnis.
Hear how the birds, on ev'ry bloomy spray,
With joyous musick wake the dawning day!
Why sit we mute when early linnets sing,
When warbling Philomel salutes the spring?
Why sit we sad when Phosphor shines so clear,
And lavish nature paints the purple Year?
Strephon.
Sing, then, and Damon shall attend the strain,
While yon' slow oxen turn the furrow'd Plain.
Here the bright crocus and blue vi'let glow;
Here western winds on breathing roses blow.
I'll stake yon' lamb, that near the fountain plays,
And from the brink his dancing shade surveys.
Daphnis.
And I this bowl, where wanton Ivy twines,
And swelling clusters bend the curling vines:
Four figures rising from the work appear,
The various seasons of the rolling year;
And what is that, which binds the radiant sky,
Where twelve fair Signs in beauteous order lie?
Damon.
Then sing by turns, by turns the Muses sing,
Now hawthorns blossom, now the daisies spring,
Now leaves the trees, and flow'rs adorn the ground,
Begin, the vales shall ev'ry note rebound.
Inspire me, Phoebus, in my Delia's praise
With Waller's strains, or Granville's moving lays!
A milk-white bull shall at your altars stand,
That threats a fight, and spurns the rising sand.
Daphnis.
O Love! for Sylvia let me gain the prize,
And make my tongue victorious as her eyes;
No lambs or sheep for victims I'll impart,
Thy victim, Love, shall be the shepherd's heart.
Strephon.
Me gentle Delia beckons from the plain,
Then hid in shades, eludes her eager swain;
But feigns a laugh, to see me search around,
And by that laugh the willing fair is found.
Daphnis.
The sprightly Sylvia trips along the green,
She runs, but hopes she does not run unseen;
While a kind glance at her pursuer flies,
How much at variance are her feet and eyes!
Strephon.
O'er golden sands let rich Pactolus flow,
And trees weep amber on the banks of Po;
Blest Thames's shores the brightest beauties yield,
Feed here my lambs, I'll seek no distant field.
Daphnis.
Celestial Venus haunts Idalia's groves;
Diana Cynthus, Ceres Hybla loves;
If Windsor-shades delight the matchless maid,
Cynthus and Hybla yield to Windsor-shade.
Strephon.
All nature mourns, the Skies relent in show'rs,
Hush'd are the birds, and clos'd the drooping flow'rs;
If Delia smile, the flow'rs begin to spring,
The skies to brighten, and the birds to sing.
Daphnis.
All nature laughs, the groves are fresh and fair,
The Sun's mild lustre warms the vital air;
If Sylvia smiles, new glories gild the shore,
And vanquish'd nature seems to charm no more.
Strephon.
In spring the fields, in autumn hills I love,
At morn the plains, at noon the shady grove,
But Delia always; absent from her sight,
Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight.
Daphnis.
Sylvia's like autumn ripe, yet mild as May,
More bright than noon, yet fresh as early day;
Ev'n spring displeases, when she shines not here;
But blest with her, 'tis spring throughout the year.
Strephon.
Say, Daphnis, say, in what glad soil appears,
A wond'rous Tree that sacred Monarchs bears:
Tell me but this, and I'll disclaim the prize,
And give the conquest to thy Sylvia's eyes.
Daphnis.
Nay tell me first, in what more happy fields
The Thistle springs, to which the Lily yields:
And then a nobler prize I will resign;
For Sylvia, charming Sylvia, shall be thine.
Damon.
Cease to contend, for, Daphnis, I decree,
The bowl to Strephon, and the lamb to thee:
Blest Swains, whose Nymphs in ev'ry grace excel;
Blest Nymphs, whose Swains those graces sing so well!
Now rise, and haste to yonder woodbine bow'rs,
A soft retreat from sudden vernal show'rs,
The turf with rural dainties shall be crown'd,
While op'ning blooms diffuse their sweets around.
For see! the gath'ring flocks to shelter tend,
And from the Pleiads fruitful show'rs descend.
poem by Alexander Pope
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Yes I Am
In these days and these hours of fury
When the darkness and answers are thin
Lovers come and check out in a hurry
Shallow and hollow again
Come lay your body beside me
To dream to sleep with the lamb
To the question your eyes seem to send
Am I your passion your promise your end
I say I am
Yes I am
Your passion your promise your end
Yes I am
Barring divine intervention
There is nothing between you and I
And if I carelessly forgot to mention
Your body your power can sanctify
Come feed your hunger your thirst
Lay it down the beast will die
You can question my heart once again
Am I your passion your promise your end
I say I am
Yes I am
Your passion your promise your end
Yes I am
I will stand firm in the tempest
I will ride destinys' trail
To believe when the truth comes up empty
To hold and respect without fail
Come and be one in the motion
A desire they cannot comprehend
Never to question again
For I am your passion your promise your end
Oh yes I am
song performed by by Melissa Etheridge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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