En.Citatepedia^®.ro

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mother Mary

Like no other
from the time
I saw first light,
mother Mary sacrificed
her life for me.

In times of desolation
when all others doubt me,
mother Mary still believes
in my integrity.

In times of darkness
when no other is near,
mother Mary talks to me
and tries to set my eyes
back on the light
and her voice
is the only one that I hear.

Every morning before the day begins
mother Mary’s prayers
goes to the King of kings,
telling Him of all the things
that living brings to me.

When all hope is gone
and all things are done,
mother Mary takes my hand
and reminds me to trust
and that the new morning
is very near.

Beyond reason
when there’s no indication
that any answer
or victory is possible,
mother Mary still believes
and the Almighty One
touches me through her.

Age is making mother Mary frail
and time is rushing by
and I am afraid
that the end is coming near
and although life has taken
its toll from her
mother Mary is like no other
and will always be
my dearest mother.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Sonnet: Mary, Mother of God

O Heavenly Mother of Jesus Christ!
O Virgin Queen, our Mother too, divine
Who bore Him, yet became disciple first,
O Mother Great of Velankanni shrine.

O Mary, born without Original Sin!
Loving Mother of God’s begotten Son;
Conceived by Holy Spirit, still virgin;
Queen of Heaven, crowned stars and sun!

From earth, Mary assumed into Heaven;
The serpent Satan failed to win, because;
Mother of Perpetual Help for all men,
Mother of Sorrows saw Son die on cross.

O Mary, Intercessor, Lord’s with thee!
Pray for sinners, on earth and Purgatory.

13-6-2001

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Cupboard

Mother: What's in that cupboard, Mary?
Mary: Which cupboard, mother dear?
Mother: The cupboard of red mahogany
With handles shining clear.
Mary: That cupboard, dearest mother,
With shining crystal handles?
There's nought inside but rags and jags
And yellow tallow candles.
Mother: What's in that cupboard, Mary?
Mary: Which cupboard, mother mine?
Mother: That cupboard stands in your sunny chamber,
The silver corners shine.
Mary: There's nothing there inside, mother,
But wool and thread and flax,
And bits of faded silk and velvet
And candles of white wax.
Mother: What's in that cupboard, Mary?
And this time tell me true.
Mary: White clothes for an unborn baby, mother..
But what's the truth to you?

poem by Robert Graves
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Mid the Piteous Heaps of Dead

'MID the piteous heaps of dead
Goes one weary golden head
Tossing ever to and fro,
Calling loud and calling low.

Mother, mother, step so light,
Mother, lay your fingers white
On my forehead like a dew !
Mother, mother, where are you?

Still so loud he makes his cry
That the dying cannot die;
All the writhing field's one groan
While he lies and cries alone.

But his mother's far away;
Cannot hear him cry and say:
Mother, I am dying, come!
Mother, I am lost from home!

Mary, Mother of all men,
Come and comfort him in pain.
Take his young head to the breast
Where your Child and God had rest.

Mary, Mary, step so light.
Mary, lay your fingers white
On his forehead! He shall dream
That his mother comforts him.

Mary, Mother, croon him o'er
Lullabies you sang before!
Mary, ease him, crooning low,
In the way that mothers know!

poem by Katharine Tynan
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Song (Here's a health to thee, Mary...)

Here's a health to thee, Mary,
Here's a health to thee;
The drinkers are gone,
And I am alone,
To think of home and thee, Mary.

There are some who may shine o'er thee, Mary,
And many as frank and free,
And a few as fair,
But the summer air
Is not more sweet to me, Mary.

I have thought of thy last low sigh, Mary,
And thy dimm'd and gentle eye;
And I've called on thy name
When the night winds came,
And heard my heart reply, Mary.

Be thou but true to me, Mary,
Аnd I'll be true to thee;
Аnd at set of sun,
When my task is done,
Вe sure that I'm ever with thee, Mary.

poem by Barry Cornwall
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Mary, Mary

Words and music by michael nesmith
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
Mary, mary, can I go too.
This one thing I will vow ya,
Id rather die than to live without ya.
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
Mary, mary, tell me truly
What did I do to make you leave me.
Whatever it was I didnt mean to,
You know I never would try and hurt ya.
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
What more, mary, can I do
To prove my love is truly yours?
Ive done more now than a clear-thinkin man would do.
Mary, mary, its not over.
Where you go, I will follow.
til I win your love again
And walk beside you,
But until then.
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
Mary, where you goin to?
Mary, mary, mary, mary, mary, where you goin to?
[repeat adlib]

song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The futile wish

Who knows who are John Shakespeare and
Mary Arden who have begotten
William Shakespeare, the greatest dramatist.
You and I drain our blood to make sons great.
27.06.2004

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mary Mary Magdalene

Mary Mary Magdalene,
what do all those stories mean?
Mary, Mary, is it true,
Jesus had a thing for you?

Mary, Mary – He lay with you?
Mary, Mary, tell me true
Mary, Mary, red hair wild,
did He leave you great with child?

Mary, was your love so steady,
that you had had His kids already?
Mary, Mary, at the Cross,
did it feel a gain or loss?

Mary, Mary – on that third day,
what was it like with the stone rolled away?
Mary, Mary, running there with love,
what did you think when He rose above?

Mary, Mary – what was it like, after?
Were there tears or joyful laughter?
Mary, Mary – the kids you had –
did they turn out like their Dad?

Mary, Mary, whore redeemed,
did it work out like you dreamed?
Mary, Mary – your afterlife –
was it mostly love, or mostly strife?

Mary, Mary, were you worshipped or despised
As Mary’s daughter-in-law, Mrs. Christ?
Mary, Mary, did you stay,
or feel you had to take the kids away?

Mary, Mary, with so much love,
did you, too, rise to heaven above?
Mary, Mary, in the sky,
all we ask are the reasons why…

Mary, Mary Magdalene,
What is really true? What does it really mean?

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Happy Mother's Day

O Mary, Mother of God,
You are my everlasting Mother,
You help me and protect every one of us,
Whatever it might be, unlike other;

O Mother dear,
You are my most beloved Mother,
With your two hands you did so much,
It is beyond any words thinkable.

Comfort thy O Mother,
And endeavor to do,
What is conducive to
The happiness of her heart.

O Mother, Mary
Give us all the blessings and unconditional love,
Taking care of us all the time,
Thank you so much, O Mother Mary.

Mothers around the world,
The burden and suffering you carry are so great,
They beat every Guinness Book world records made,
But you know your responsibilities have not ended yet.

Be sure to enjoy this joyous day,
For love is poured especially for you,
Cherish and remember this wonderful day,
For you all are the greatest mothers.

May God Bless All Mothers on Earth;
Happy Mother’s Day to Our Beloved mothers.

poem by Lawrence Hiung
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To Mary in Heaven

I.
I met thee first in May, Mary!
The flower-crowned month of May;
But now thou art away, Mary!
Away from me—away!
Thou wert that all to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.

II.
Ah! then thine eyes were mild, Mary!
Thy deep blue eyes were mild;
For thou wert then a child, Mary!
And I another child.
Thou wert that all to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.

III.
Thy face was then so meek, Mary!
So saintly mild, so meek,
Thy lily-form seemed weak, Mary!
And mine for thine grew weak
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.

IV.
You led me through the meads, Mary!
The flower-enameled meads,
By brooks of rustling reeds, Mary!
By brooks of rustling reeds—
Where thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.

V.
Wherever you then went, Mary!
No matter where you went—
I followed with content, Mary!
Because you were content.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.

VI.
I recollect the morn, Mary!
The beautiful May-Morn,
Beside the Field of Corn, Mary!
The rustling reeds of Corn—
That thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.

VII.
Ah! then I took thy hand, Mary!
Thy lily snow-white hand;
And walked along the sand, Mary!
The milk-white road of sand.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.

VIII.
I caught thee round the waist, Mary!
The slender Sylph-like waist,
And felt my heart beat fast, Mary!
Because thine own beat fast.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.

IX.
Such words fell from thy tongue, Mary!
Such sweet words from thy tongue,
That when you talked you sung, Mary!
You never talked but sung.
Then thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.

X.
Thus through the month of May, Mary!
The flower-crowned month of May,
We, courting, went to play, Mary!
And courted in our play.
The years were then to me, Mary!
As hours are now to me;
As time is now to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.

XI.
For Love knows nought of years, Mary!
Love nothing knows of years;
And sheds no bitter tears, Mary!
Time measured is by tears.
Thus thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.

XII.
What thou art now above, Mary!
I was, as if above;
For Heaven is made of love, Mary!
And I was full of love.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.

XIII.
But now these days are gone, Mary!
These halcyon days are gone!
And I am left alone, Mary!
Alone on earth-- alone!
What would I give to see, Mary!
Thy precious form to see?
All thou wouldst give to be, Mary!
In this dark world with me.

poem by Thomas Holley Chivers from Eonchs of Ruby (1851)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Affection

The earth that made the rose,
She also is thy mother, and not I.
The flame wherewith thy maiden spirit glows
Was lighted at no hearth that I sit by.
I am as far below as heaven above thee.
Were I thine angel, more I could not love thee.

Bid me defend thee!
Thy danger over-human strength shall lend me,
A hand of iron and a heart of steel,
To strike, to wound, to slay, and not to feel.
But if you chide me,
I am a weak, defenceless child beside thee.

poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Faces Of Our Women

Mary didn't give birth to God.
Mary isn't the mother of God.
Mary is one mother among many mothers.
Mary gave birth to a son,
a son among many sons.
That's why Mary is so beautiful in all the pictures of her.
That's why Mary's son is so close to us, like our own sons.
The faces of our women are the book of our pains.
Our pains, our faults and the blood we shed
carve scars on the faces of our women like plows.
And our joys are reflected in the eyes of women
like the dawns glowing on the lakes.
Our imaginations are on the faces of women we love.
Whether we see them or not, they are before us,
closest to our realities and furthest.

poem by Nazim Hikmet
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Mary Of Magdala

Mary of Magdala came to bed;
There were no soft curtains round her head;
She had no mother to hold of worth
The little baby she brought to birth.

Mary of Magdala groaned and prayed:
'O God, I am very much afraid;
For out of my body, by sin defiled,
Thou biddest me make a little child.

'O God, I have turned my face from Thee
To that which the angels may not see;
How can I make, from my deep disgrace,
A child whose angel shall see Thy face?

'O God, I have sinned, and I know well
That the pains I bear are the pains of hell;
But the thought of the child that sin has given
Is like the thought of the airs of Heaven.'

Mary of Magdala held her breath
In the clutch of pain like the pains of Death,
And through her heart, like the mortal knife,
Went the pang of joy and the pang of life.

'We two are two alone,' said she,
'And we are two who should be three;
Now who will clothe my baby fair
In the little garments that babies wear?'

There came two angels with quiet wings
And hands that were full of baby things;
And the new-born child was bathed and dressed
And laid again on his mother's breast.

'Now who will sign on his brow the mark
To keep him safe from the Powers of the Dark?
Who will my baby's sponsor be?'
'I, the Lord God, who died for thee.'

'Now who will comfort him if he cry;
And who will suckle him by and bye?
For my hands are cold and my breasts are dry,
And I think that my time has come to die.'

'I will dandle thy son as a mother may;
And his lips shall lie where my own Son's lay.
Come, dear little one, come to me;
The Mother of God shall suckle thee.'

Mary of Magdala laughed and sighed;
'I never deserved a child,' she cried.
'Dear God, I am ready to go to hell,
Since with my little one all is well.'

Then the Son of Mary did o'er her lean.
'Poor mother, thy tears have washed thee clean.
Thy last poor pains, they will soon be done,
And My Mother shall give thee back thy son.'

Frozen grass for a bearing bed,
A halo of frost round a woman's head,
And pious folks who looked and said:
'A drab and her brat that are better dead.'

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Mother Mary

Blessed Mother Mary
mother of Jesus,
Mother Mary MacKillop
sainted mother
of Australia
thank God
for the Marys.

poem by Vince Gullaci
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The Power

Mother Mary, Mother Mary
Mother Mary, please answer my prayers
I want to run free and I need you to be there
I'm going to take some chances I never took before
I've got to live my life and I'm going to risk it all
I look to the sky and suddenly I know
I've made up my mind, I'm never letting go
It's the power I want, it's the power I need
To make me run, to make me see for real
It's the power I want, to let me do what I feel
To make me run, to make me be for real
Unlike a miracle or a wish upon a star
The power to be me is all I need to start
To do things I'll never regret
and to leave the rest behind
It's the power I want, it's the power I need
To make me run, to make me see for real
It's the power I want, to let me do what I feel
To make me run, to make me be for real
It's the power I want, it's the power I need
To make me run, to make me see for real
It's the power I want, to let me do what I feel
To make me run, to make me be for real
You're the one to only help me
The only one, so help me, help me
Give it to me, to me, to me
Oh Mother Mary, please, please, please, please
Please just help and watch me shine
Then watch the power make me fly away
Mother Mary, Mother Mary
It's the power I want, it's the power I need
To make me run, to make me see for real
It's the power I want, to let me do what I feel
To make me run, to make me be for real
It's the power I want, it's the power I need
To make me run, to make me see for real
It's the power I want, to let me do what I feel
To make me run, to make me be for real

song performed by by Vanessa Amorosi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bonny Mary O!

The morning opens fine, bonny Mary O!
The robin sings his song by the dairy O!
Where the little Jenny wrens cock their tails among the hens,
Singing morning's happy songs with Mary O!

The swallow's on the wing, bonny Mary O!
Where the rushes fringe the spring, bonny Mary O!
Where the cowslips do unfold, shaking tassels all of gold,
Which make the milk so sweet, bonny Mary O!

There's the yellowhammer's nest, bonny Mary O!
Where she hides her golden breast, bonny Mary O!
On her mystic eggs she dwells, with strange writing on their shells,
Hid in the mossy grass, bonny Mary O!

There the spotted cow gets food, bonny Mary O!
And chews her peaceful cud, bonny Mary O!
In the mole-hills and the bushes, and the clear brook fringed with rushes
To fill the evening pail, bonny Mary O!

The cowpond once agen, bonny Mary O!
Lies dimpled like thy sen, bonny Mary O!
Where the gnat swarms fall and rise under evening's mellow skies,
And on flags sleep dragon flies, bonny Mary O!

And I will meet thee there, bonny Mary O!
When a-milking you repair, bonny Mary O!
And I'll kiss thee on the grass, my buxom, bonny lass,
And be thine own for aye, bonny Mary O!

poem by John Clare
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Sonnet: Mother Mary

She was with me, my Mother all the time;
Whenever troubles came and I was sad;
She was my perpetual succor- the prime;
My Mother from Heaven since I’as a lad.

O Mother Mary, Help of Christians all;
What miracles you wrought upon this soul!
And everytime I prayed to you to call;
You came to strengthen my will in my role.

O how on earth can I thank you, tell me?
And yet ungrateful is my mind and heart;
I continue to sin repeatedly;
My sinful burden outweighs my Life’s cart!
O Holy Mary, pray for me, I ask;
In Heaven’s Sun, one day, I wish to bask!

poem by John Celes
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Miracle Of The Rosary

(words & music by l. deanson)
Oh blessed mother we pray to thee
Thanks for the miracle of your rosary
Only you can hold back
Your holy sons hand
Long enough for the whole world to understand
Hail, mary full of grace
The lord is with thee
Blessed are thou among women
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, jesus
Oh holy mary dear mother of god
Please pray for us sinners
Now and at the hour of our death
And give thanks once again
For the miracle of your rosary

song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prayer-song to Mother Mary

Queen of heaven and of earth,
She was virgin until birth
Of Lord Jesus, Son of God,
Through humbleness, faith and nod!

Hail Mary filled with God’s grace,
Raised above all men on earth;
You lived with a heavenly gaze,
Until assumed to God’s mirth.

Mother Mary, pray for us;
Get us divine forgiveness,
For the sins that we had done,
Crucifying Christ, your son!

Mother Mary, tell your son:
Keep the devils on the run;
Free our souls from every sin;
Against satan, help us win!

Copyright by Dr John Celes 11-17-2009

poem by John Celes
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Want To Be Whur Mother Is

'Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!'
Jeemses Rivers! won't some one ever shet that howl o' his?
That-air yellin' drives me wild!
Cain't none of ye stop the child?
Want jer Daddy? 'Naw.' Gee whizz!
'Want to be whur mother is!'

'Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!'
Coax him, Sairy! Mary, sing somepin far him! Lift him, Liz--
Bang the clock-bell with the key--
Er the _meat-ax!_ Gee-mun-nee!
Listen to them lungs o' his!
'Want to be whur mother is!'

'Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!'
Preacher guess'll pound all night on that old pulpit o' his;
'Pears to me some wimmin jest
Shows religious interest
Mostly 'fore their fambly's riz!
'Want to be whur mother is!'

* * * * *

'Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!'
Nights like these and whipperwills allus brings that voice of his!
Sairy; Mary; 'Lizabeth;
Don't set there and ketch yer death
In the dew--er rheumatiz--
Want to be whur mother is?

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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