The Orange
The month was June, the day was hot,
And Philip had an orange got,
The fruit was fragrant, tempting, bright,
Refreshing to the smell and sight;
Not of that puny size which calls
Poor customers to common stalls,
But large and massy, full of juice,
As any Lima can produce.
The liquor would, if squeezëd out,
Have filled a tumbler-thereabout.
The happy boy, with greedy eyes,
Surveys and re-surveys his prize.
He turns it round, and longs to drain,
And with the juice his lips to stain,
His throat and lips were parched with heat;
The orange seemed to cry, Come eat,
He from his pocket draws a knife-
When in his thoughts there rose a strife,
Which folks experience when they wish
Yet scruple to begin a dish,
And by their hesitation own
It is too good to eat alone.
But appetite o'er indecision
Prevails, and Philip makes incision.
The melting fruit in quarters came,-
Just then there passëd by a dame,
One of the poorer sort she seemed,
As by her garb you would have deemed,-
Who in her toil-worn arms did hold
A sickly infant ten months old;
That from a fever, caught in spring,
Was slowly then recovering.
The child, attracted by the view
Of that fair orange, feebly threw
A languid look-perhaps the smell
Convinced it that there sure must dwell
A corresponding sweetness there,
Where lodged a scent so good and rare-
Perhaps the smell the fruit did give
Felt healing and restorative-
For never had the child been graced
To know such dainties by their taste.
When Philip saw the infant crave,
He straightway to the mother gave
His quartered orange; nor would stay
To hear her thanks, but tripped away.
Then to the next clear spring he ran
To quench his drought, a happy man!
poem by Charles Lamb
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Related quotes
Orange Rose (Poem 10 from Rose Series)
The orange rose,
gives you bliss,
happiness and enticement.
If you want a good time,
all you gotta do is pick up,
an orange rose,
and smell it's sweet scent.
You will feel that bliss,
happiness and enticement.
The orange rose is meant for everyone,
to pick up and smell.
It's good for you,
cuz everyone needs to be happy.
Take the orange rose....
poem by Ninja Soul
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Orange juice
Orange juice mom says drink
When i am sick
It can make me thick
Orange juice i have to pick
licking mom says no
Drinking i have to do
Hate orange juice, mom says i know
Vitamin C it has
And i need to take
for my own sake
Healthy it can make me
Power it can give me
Orange juice
Is all i need
When i am in lead
With the kids at the lake.! :)
poem by michelle al G
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Someday
someday
i like to taste again the glass of orange juice that
you gave me
on that Sunday afternoon
when we were left alone
in the house
of your aunt.
it was so sweet &
so refreshing..
.there is no other glass of orange juice like that
in my lifetime
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In the Fruit and Veg
Knocking you listen
to the sound
that a watermelon makes
to test if it is ripe
and I wipe the smile form my face,
trying to look sincere
and the whole of Fruit and Veg is filled
with shoppers, adoring ripe fruit and vegetables
crowding around some places with special offers
like a great vast congregation
gathered in the temple of a god
and tonight you will again
make your great fruit salad
with chopped and sliced mangoes,
papaw, sweet melon, some squeezed orange juice
and grapes
and maybe this afternoon
we will eat the watermelon
in the shade next to the swimming pool.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Ode To Orange Chgicken
Orange chicken, oh orange chicken,
how much I love you.
You're sweet, sticky, and tangy, all at the same time,
you go great wi th soy sauce, but never with lime.
ode to orange chicken, which I love to devour,
it's been in my mouth so often, it knows that i have power.
It knows the names of my taste buds, Jill, Lil, and Bill,
sometimes the orange chicken is happy, but sometimes it's held against it's will.
Whenever I eat orange chicken, it goes CRUNCH, CRUNCH,
and I have to have chow mein, and that goes MUCH, MUNCH!
Ode to orange chicken, it is always in a bowl,
but did I mention, i also love eggrolls.
poem by Aubrey Harmel
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Spring Is Finally Here! - By Kitty Cotton (My Great Niece) Aged 11 (Set of three poems)
Finally we see the silk blue sky,
Finally we hear the birds sing a joyful twitter,
Now we see the sun set in the orange ocean,
Now we hear the loud combine.
The weak woolly lambs run in the sun,
The smell of cut grass wafts up my nose,
No more dark clouds hovering above us,
No more cold deep puddles.
Let’s enjoy the rest of spring,
Let’s watch the orange sapphire set.
For spring is finally here!
© Kitty Cotton
poem by Ernestine Northover
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A Ripe Mango
smell its sweetness
like the scent of a
child's memory
soothing to sadness
its color is yellow
on hues on pale orange
smooth skin
like porcelain
its pulp is juicy
and sugarlike
in taste, and
the covering
of the seed is
leatherlike
at the core
it is better
like me, really.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Single Orange Rose
Here is my prose,
All based on a single orange rose,
Grave grass springing,
Church hyms their singing,
Blood stains clinging,
On my single orange rose,
No soul is laughing,
Deaths hands are clapping,
Coffin case trapping,
On my single orange rose,
Trees are branching,
My cold blank eyes are trancing,
The life cycle of death is dancing,
On my single orange rose,
I picked my final wish,
On deaths lips I kissed,
My long life I missed,
All because of that single orange rose,
COPYRIGHT 2008 BEN SPARACO POEMS
poem by Ben Sparaco
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Orange juice kiss
A circle of dried, sweet orange juice
Finger to mouth, the taste memories seduce
Memories of that sweet orange juice kiss
Thoughts race to the past and days of bliss
The giggling young angel standing at the bedside
The past and the present, emotions collide
Those glorious hours playing in the park
Warm sunny days before the onset of dark
When long summer day’s end and it’s time to rest
Sweet angel climbs up and lays head on my chest
If there’s one memory that brings me this bliss
It’s the memory of that sweet orange juice kiss
poem by Brian 'Peza' Perrins
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When you squeeze an orange, orange juice comes out - because that's what's inside. When you are squeezed, what comes out is what is inside.
quote by Wayne Dyer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Green Sour Orange....
first i get an orange
a green orange, the young one
sour, but still
citrus, not pungent
but inviting, not a cure for the
wound, not easing,
it penetrates pain and
makes it more painful,
then i cut the orange,
press it
and press it some more
to get all its juices....
i do not drink it
i leave it in the glass
for all those dark nights
till every juice dries,
till what you see and feel
is the same
emptiness....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Healthy fruit - Guava!
While I entered into my kitchen,
The aroma of a nice fruit pierced my nose!
It gave an euphoria to my sense,
O' It is a smell of Guava!
Yellow in color,
Ripened in nature,
It invited me to eat
and taste;
I took the fruit in my hand,
I took the knife too kept aside,
I cut the fruit gently with care,
into pieces of four;
I tasted the fruit, Guava,
It was yummy yummy,
Very tasty and yummy,
Healthy fruit - Guava!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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Prince Of Orange
Look at these hands
Spokes of the sun God delay you, spray you
Prince of orange, climb the ladder
Prince of orange will die.
Brass robinettes
Trumpet and drums for the taking, baking
Prince of orange, climb the ladder
Prince of orange will die.
All the food he steals is all right
Far the tall and gentle poplar
Causing fanfare to those listening
Now
Drape round your head
Mischief and secrets in green kelt, all hell
Prince of orange, climb the ladder
Prince of orange will die.
Look at these lands (--- --- ---)
Youll get no books for your dinner
Sinner
Prince of orange, climb the ladder
Prince of orange will die
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Orange
I hold in my hand my last source of food
I squeeze it in my mouth
the sweetness envelopes my taste buds
growing increasing the ever small size of my belly
letting the taste of this orange last as long as possible
the orange becomes dried up
no more food to be found on the island
poem by Jessica Roberts
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Red And Orange
Ther's a red house,
Inside there's an orange door.
Beside that there's a red carpet,
On top of an orange floor.
There's a red table,
Below an orange ceiling.
Upstairs there's a red bed,
Inside an orange room.
There's a couple of red people sleeping soundly,
Next door two orange ones too.
Outside there's a red truck,
No one knows what to do.
I don't see the proble,
Why don't you leave us all alone.
But now I see the red more clearly,
And I know what's done is done.
And I'll float away with the cloudy smoke,
Before the inevertable happens and I start to choke.
Good bye red house,
So long orange door.
I'm going for a long sleep noe,
Six feet under the floor.
Fly home
Fly home there will be shine
with bright orange light
Fly home there will be sweet
with bright orange light
Fly home there will be caring
with bright orange light
Fly home there will be lovely
with bright orange light
Fly home there will be comfort
with bright orange light
Fly home there will be fortune
with bright orange light
Fly home there will be future
with bright orange light
Fly home Fly home to your nest
with bright orange light
poem by See Fee Lee
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Try not thinking of peeling an orange. Try not imagining the juice running down your fingers, the soft inner part of the peel. The smell. Try and you can't. The brain doesn't process negatives.
quote by Doug Coupland
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Orange And Green Will Carry The Day
Ireland! rejoice, and England! deplore
Faction and feud are passing away.
'Twas a low voice, but 'tis a loud roar,
'Orange and Green will carry the day.'
Orange! Orange!
Green and Orange!
Pitted together in many a fray
Lions in fight!
And linked in their might,
Orange and Green will carry the day.
Orange! Orange!
Green and Orange!
Wave them together o'er mountain and bay.
Orange and Green!
Our King and our Queen!
'Orange and Green will carry the day!'
Rusty the swords our fathers unsheathed
William and James are turned to clay
Long did we till the wrath they bequeathed,
Red was the crop, and bitter the pay!
Freedom fled us!
Knaves misled us!
Under the feet of the foemen we lay
Riches and strength
We'll win them at length,
For Orange and Green will carry the day!
Landlords fooled us;
England ruled us,
Hounding our passions to make us their prey;
But, in their spite,
The Irish UNITE,
And Orange and Green will carry the day!
Fruitful our soil where honest men starve;
Empty the mart, and shipless the bay;
Out of our want the Oligarchs carve;
Foreigners fatten on our decay!
Disunited,
Therefore blighted,
Ruined and rent by the Englishman's sway;
Party and creed
For once have agreed
Orange and Green will carry the day!
Boyne's old water,
Red with slaughter!
Now is as pure as an infant at play;
So, in our souls,
Its history rolls,
And Orange and Green will carry the day!
English deceit can rule us no more;
Bigots and knaves are scattered like spray
Deep was the oath the Orangeman swore,
'Orange and Green must carry the day!'
Orange! Orange!
Bless the Orange!
Tories and Whigs grew pale with dismay,
When from the North
Burst the cry forth,
'Orange and Green will carry the day!'
No surrender!
No Pretender!
Never to falter and never betray
With an Amen,
We swear it again,
ORANGE AND GREEN SHALL CARRY THE DAY.
poem by Thomas Davis
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Frosty Scent!
The sweet scent of a Rose
Stays frozen when sprayed with a hose;
Rose-water, Natural Sweet notes of a Rose
Aroma rejuvenates in Beauty's Classic pose;
Perfumes that suit you, are so many
Rose, Orange, Vanilla, Sandalwood and Honey;
Scents that soothe, please, enhance, refresh, cheer
All depends on the taste and mood, what you wear;
Smell that makes one happy and attractive
Personality, Taste and Mood is indicative;
Frost covers the flower but enhances it's fragrance
Sweet Odour hides the essence of your presence.
poem by Manjeshwari P MYSORE
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Spring In The Air
How can it be, I'm smelling Spring in the air?
There's snow on the ground
and on the trees, everywhere!
Yet the smell of Spring
entered into a sniff of my nose.
As I stood at the sink
up the scent, of Spring had rose.
Is it my girlish heart?
that is wanting this so?
That I smell now it's freshness
in the morn of the air?
I'll keep looking for it
no matter how long it seems to take!
And eventually it will be here
four months of time, and Spring again will awake!
poem by Linda Winchell
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