A Ballad
In a costly palace Youth goes clad in gold;
In a wretched workhouse Age's limbs are cold:
There they sit, the old men by a shivering fire,
Still close and closer cowering, warmth is their desire.
In a costly palace, when the brave gallants dine,
They have store of good venison, with old canary wine,
With singing and music to heighten the cheer;
Coarse bits, with grudging, are the pauper's best fare.
In a costly palace Youth is still carest
By a train of attendants which laugh at my young Lord's jest;
In a wretched workhouse the contrary prevails:
Does Age begin to prattle?-no man heark'neth to his tales.
In a costly palace if the child with a pin
Do but chance to prick a finger, straight the doctor is called in;
In a wretched workhouse men are left to perish
For want of proper cordials, which their old age might cherish.
In a costly palace Youth enjoys his lust;
In a wretched workhouse Age, in corners thrust,
Think upon the former days, when he was well to do,
Had children to stand by him, both friends and kinsmen too.
In a costly palace Youth his temples hides
With a new devised peruke that reaches to his sides;
In a wretched workhouse Age's crown is bare,
With a few thin locks just to fence out the cold air.
In peace, as in war, 'tis our young gallants' pride,
To walk, each one i' the streets, with a rapier by his side,
That none to do them injury may have pretence;
Wretched Age, in poverty, must brook offence.
poem by Charles Lamb
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Related quotes
Costly
Costly life costly time
Truth is costly life is costly.
No one can say
The exact cost of life
No one can investigate
What is life
No one can speak
Bare truth of life
No one can
No one can.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Foreign Window
I saw you from a foreign window
Bearing down the sufferin road
You were carryin your burden
To the palace of the lord
To the palace of the lord
I spied you from a foreign window
When the lilacs were in bloom
And the sun shone through your window pane
To the place you kept your books
You were reading on your sofa
You were singin every prayer
That the masters had instilled in you
Since lord byron loved despair
In the palace of the lord
In the palace of the lord
Bridge:
And if you get it right this time
You dont have to come back again
And if you get it right this time
Theres no need to explain
I saw you from a foreign
Bearing down the sufferin road
You were carryin your burden
You were singing about rimbaud
I was going down to geneva
When the kingdom had been found
I was giving you protection
From the loneliness of the crowd
In the palace of the lord
In the palace of the lord
They were giving you religion
Breaking bread and drinking wine
And you laid out on the green hills
Just like when you were a child
I saw you from a foreign window
You were trying to find your way back home
You were carrying your defects
Sleeping on a pallet on the floor
In the palace of the lord
In the palace of the lord
In the palace of the lord
Etc etc...
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Crackerbox Palace
I was so young when I was born
My eyes could not yet see
And by the time of my first dawn
Somebody holding me . . . they said
I welcome you to crackerbox palace
Weve been expecting you
You bring such joy in crackerbox palace
No matter where you roam know our love is true
While growing up or trying to
Not knowing where to start
I looked around for someone who
May help reveal my heart - someone said
While youre a part of cracerbox palace
Do what the rest all do
Or face the fact that crackerbox palace
May have no other choice than to deport you
I welcome you to crackerbox palace
Weve been expecting you
You bring us joy in crackerbox palace
No matter where you roam know our love is true
Sometimes are good . . . sometimes are bad
Thats all a part of life
And standing in between them all
I met a mr. grief - and he said
I welcome you to crackerbox palace
Was not expecting you
Lets rap and tap at crackerbox palace
Know that the lord is well and inside of you
(chorus)
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode to the Modern Work-Man
O, wretched modern work-man
The years, they pass you by
Everything you believe
Is nothing but a lie.
O, wretched modern work-man
From your neckties to your socks
You’re nothing but a slave
To pictures in a box.
O, wretched modern work-man
You live for the Public Eye
Your life is but a parody
Whose foundation is a lie.
O, wretched modern work-man
You strive, and save, and yearn
To keep up with the Kamaus
Spending more than you earn.
O, wretched modern work-man
You’re nothing but a slave
Your dreams are dead and buried
Lying in a shallow grave.
O, wretched modern work-man
You strangled your own dreams
You smothered your own happiness
Your hand stifled its screams.
O, wretched modern work-man
For the camera so aesthetic
Beneath the plastic smile
You’re pitiful and pathetic.
O, wretched modern work-man
You work yourself half to death
Chasing pounds and shillings
To swell another’s wealth.
O, wretched modern work-man
You lived your whole life as a show
Yet the only Watcher who mattered
Didn’t like what He saw.
O, wretched modern work-man
When you finally died
Your surname, and hospital bill
Were all you left behind…
And, perhaps most importantly, regional conflicts will again and again confront us with a cruel choice between costly engagement and costly indifference.
quote by Lord Robertson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So Close To Love
Too close to love!
Yet it's,
Costly to keep.
And it's,
Too costly to leave it.
So close to love.
I prayed with faith to get it.
Never knowing love would be 'that' close.
Never knowing I would love it most.
Too close to love!
Yet it's,
Costly to keep.
And it's,
Too costly to leave it.
Too close to love!
Yet it's,
Costly to keep.
And it's,
Too costly to leave it.
So close to love.
Never knowing love would be 'that' close.
Never knowing I would love it most.
And I'm,
So close to love.
Never knowing love would be 'that' close.
Never knowing I would love it most.
Too close to love!
Yet it's,
Costly to keep.
And it's,
Too costly to leave it.
So close to love.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A wretched society
A wretched society-
I don’t sing love;
Instead I chant Krishn.
I don’t play romance;
Instead, I dance as Radha.
A wretched society-
I don’t keep men’s photos;
Instead, I keep their gifts.
I don’t befriend men;
Instead, I visit their wives.
A wretched society-
I don’t move with men;
Instead, I acquaint with cousins.
I don’t seek heroes;
Instead, I frequent seers.
A good daughter, a good sister,
A chaste wife, a good mother,
And a woman of modesty,
I have lived me to my peril.
A wretched society.
04.02.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Refusal
MINE is a palace fair to see,
All hung with gold and silver things,
It is more glorious than a king's,
And crownèd queens might envy me.
Ah, no, I will not let you in!
Stay rather at the gates and weep
For all the splendour that I keep,
The treasures that you cannot win.
While you desire and I refuse,
For both the palace still is here--
Its turrets gold, its silver gear
Are yours to wish for--mine to use.
But if I let you in, I know
The spell would break, the palace fade,
And we stand, trembling and afraid,
Lost in the dark where chill winds blow.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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O wretched man, wretched not just because of what you are, but also because you do not know how wretched you are!
quote by Marcus Tullius Cicero
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Little Children
Hunger points a bony finger
To the workhouse on the hill,
But the little children linger
While there's flowers to gather still
For my sunny window sill.
In my hands I take their faces,
Smiling to my smiles they run.
Would that I could take their places
Where the murky bye-ways shun
The benedictions of the sun
How they laugh and sing returning
Lightly on their secret way.
While I listen in my yearning
Their laughter fills the windy day
With gladness, youth and May.
poem by Francis Ledwidge
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The Despair
Beneath this gloomy shade,
By Nature only for my sorrows made,
I'll spend this voyce in crys,
In tears I'll waste these eyes
By Love so vainly fed;
So Lust of old the Deluge punished.
Ah wretched youth! said I,
'Ah, wretched youth!' twice did I sadly cry:
'Ah, wretched youth!' the fields and floods reply.
When thoughts of Love I entertain,
I meet no words but 'Never,' and 'In vain.'
'Never' alas that dreadful name
Which fuels the infernal flame:
'Never,' My time to come must waste;
'In vain,' torments the present and the past.
'In vain, in vain!' said I;
'In vain, in vain!' twice did I sadly cry;
'In vain, in vain!' the fields and floods reply.
No more shall fields or floods do so;
For I to shades more dark and silent go:
All this world's noise appears to me
A dull ill-acted comedy:
No comfort to my wounded sight,
In the suns busy and imperti'nent Light.
Then down I laid my head;
Down on cold earth; and for a while was dead,
And my freed soul to a strange somewhere fled.
'Ah, sottish Soul' said I,
When back to its cage again I saw it fly;
'Fool to resume her broken chain!
And row her galley here again!'
'Fool, to that body to return
Where it condemn'd and destin'd is to burn!
Once dead, how can it be,
Death should a thing so pleasant seem to thee,
That thou should'st come to live it o're again in me?'
poem by Abraham Cowley
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Spiritually Costly
It has been spiritually costly,
For the status quo to adopt policies...
That has kept racist inequities,
Unchecked.
Without reflecting.
Or introspectively accepting.
And keeping ignorant beliefs,
A segment of their population suppressed...
In an oppressive freedom,
That advances irresponsibility.
And with excuses made to feed...
Upon perceptions that leaves them,
Feeling rejected and in dire need.
To be left convinced...
Staying to pray on their knees,
Saves their souls.
It has been spiritually costly,
For them not to participate...
In the upgrading of a mindset,
That does not compensate...
Those that do not initiate respect.
With a protection done,
Not of benefit to anyone.
It has been spiritually costly,
For them not to insist...
An advantage is received,
By those with desires to relieve themselves
Of fantasies.
And to live life right,
Is to forgive.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Marie-Rose de Beauharnais 1795
To what shall I liken thee?
An angel in realms above,
a mermaid in Oceans beneath,
a costly stone in the fiercest
contention sought for,
or even a costly diamond in the
earth's elusive epicentre buried?
Your beauty is a turning point
reference in your amazing book
of chronicles.
poem by Joseph C Ogbonna (13 May 2021)
Submitted by Joseph C Ogbonna
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Story Teller
The story tellers
of different language
of different clothes
of different color
tells the same story
about the missing prince
in the palace.
People gathered around
and listen
to the story teller
who has the most beautiful face
and dressed like a princess.
One young man
dressed like a beggar
tells the same story
about the missing prince
in the palace
but no one came to listen.
Night comes
and the young man rides his horse
back to the palace
the young man...
is the missing prince.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Palace Of The Brine
In a place they say is dead
In the lake thats like an ocean
I count about a billion head
All the time
Theres a motion
Palace of the brine
I saw the cloning
Of the famous family
I heard the droning
In the shrine
Of the sea-monkey
Palace of the brine
Beneath reflections in the fountain
The starry sky and utah mountains
They are swimming happily
Cant you see
A life thats so sublime
Palace of the brine.
song performed by by Pixies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The greatness of man is great in that he knows himself to be wretched. A tree does not know itself to be wretched.
quote by Blaise Pascal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Golden Children
Gold has an advantage over us. Gold mattered over all other matter. Glowing is the metal of desire, the metallic abode is upon us like a golden palace twitching like silver, but gold. Golden palaces harvest children of gore to expertly slice and shear the halls and walls so that the germs must disappear from their scalps. Are they skulls, or just plain children? Is there an uprising? Or are there too many children in the golden palace? Gold shall teach the mighty reward to the ending of some crazy children.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Block City
What are you able to build with your blocks?
Castles and palaces, temples and docks.
Rain may keep raining, and others go roam,
But I can be happy and building at home.
Let the sofa be mountains, the carpet be sea,
There I'll establish a city for me:
A kirk and a mill and a palace beside,
And a harbor as well where my vessels may ride.
Great is the palace with pillar and wall,
A sort of a tower on top of it all,
And steps coming down in an orderly way
To where my toy vessels lie safe in the bay.
This one is sailing and that one is moored:
Hark to the song of the sailors on board!
And see on the steps of my palace, the kings
Coming and going with presents and things!
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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He and She
[HE.] I know a youth who loves a little maid -
(Hey, but his face is a sight for to see!)
Silent is he, for he's modest and afraid -
(Hey, but he's timid as a youth can be!)
[SHE.] I know a maid who loves a gallant youth -
(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!)
SHE cannot tell him all the sad, sad truth -
(Hey, but I think that little maid will die!)
[BOTH.] Now tell me pray, and tell me true,
What in the world should the poor soul do?
[HE.] He cannot eat and he cannot sleep -
(Hey, but his face is a sight for to see!)
Daily he goes for to wail - for to weep -
(Hey, but he's wretched as a youth can be!)
[SHE.] She's very thin and she's very pale -
(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!)
Daily she goes for to weep - for to wail -
(Hey, but I think that little maid will die!)
[BOTH.] Now tell me pray, and tell me true,
What in the world should the poor soul do?
[SHE.] If I were the youth I should offer her my name -
(Hey, but her face is a sight for to see!)
[HE.] If I were the maid I should fan his honest flame -
(Hey, but he's bashful as a youth can be!)
[SHE.] If I were the youth I should speak to her to-day -
(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!)
[HE.] If I were the maid I should meet the lad half way -
(For I really do believe that timid youth will die!)
[BOTH.] I thank you much for your counsel true;
I've learnt what that poor soul ought to do!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Den Of Demonic Dragon
Den of destruction is far away from us,
The rigours of its interior are like a mansion house.
The map shows our blunders, far too costly
For we can not arrive so early at the tomb.
A toolbox is required, for to angrily state necessities
Is far too costly, the dragons of demons are near.
We ask for a maple leaf to indicate peace
To the dragon of demons, an evil work of art.
Archangels are the arbiters of our smooth journey
To the centre of this flat world.
Archeology is asked for, the dragon is dead,
For we found its head in the middle of a mountain.
poem by Naveed Akram
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