Saint Monica
AMONG deep woods is the dismantled scite
Of an old Abbey, where the chaunted rite,
By twice ten brethren of the monkish cowl,
Was duly sung; and requiems for the soul
Of the first founder: For the lordly chief,
Who flourish'd paramount of many a fief,
Left here a stipend yearly paid, that they,
The pious monks, for his repose might say
Mass and orisons to Saint Monica.
Beneath the falling archway overgrown
With briars, a bench remains, a single stone,
Where sat the indigent, to wait the dole
Given at the buttery; that the baron's soul
The poor might intercede for; there would rest,
Known by his hat of straw with cockles drest,
And staff and humble weed of watchet gray,
The wandering pilgrim; who came there to pray
The intercession of Saint Monica.
Stern Reformation and the lapse of years
Have reft the windows, and no more appears
Abbot or martyr on the glass anneal'd;
And half the falling cloisters are conceal'd
By ash and elder: the refectory wall
Oft in the storm of night is heard to fall,
When, wearied by the labours of the day,
The half awaken'd cotters, starting say,
'It is the ruins of Saint Monica.'
Now with approaching rain is heard the rill,
Just trickling thro' a deep and hollow gill
By osiers, and the alder's crowding bush,
Reeds, and dwarf elder, and the pithy rush,
Choak'd and impeded: to the lower ground
Slowly it creeps; there traces still are found
Of hollow squares, embank'd with beaten clay,
Where brightly glitter'd in the eye of day
The peopled waters of Saint Monica.
The chapel pavement, where the name and date,
Or monkish rhyme, had mark'd the graven plate,
With docks and nettles now is overgrown;
And brambles trail above the dead unknown.
Impatient of the heat, the straggling ewe
Tinkles her drowsy bell, as nibbling slow
She picks the grass among the thistles gray,
Whose feather'd seed the light air bears away,
O'er the pale relicks of Saint Monica.
Reecho'd by the walls, the owl obscene
Hoots to the night; as thro' the ivy green
Whose matted tods the arch and buttress bind,
Sobs in low gusts the melancholy wind:
The Conium there, her stalks bedropp'd with red,
Rears, with Circea, neighbour of the dead;
Atropa too, that, as the beldams say,
Shews her black fruit to tempt and to betray,
Nods by the mouldering shrine of Monica.
Old tales and legends are not quite forgot.
Still Superstition hovers o'er the spot,
And tells how here, the wan and restless sprite,
By some way-wilder'd peasant seen at night,
Gibbers and shrieks, among the ruins drear;
And how the friar's lanthorn will appear
Gleaming among the woods, with fearful ray,
And from the church-yard take its wavering way,
To the dim arches of Saint Monica.
The antiquary comes not to explore,
As once, the unrafter'd roof and pathless floor;
For now, no more beneath the vaulted ground
Is crosier, cross, or sculptur'd chalice found,
Nor record telling of the wassail ale,
What time the welcome summons to regale,
Given by the matin peal on holiday,
The villagers rejoicing to obey,
Feasted, in honour of Saint Monica.
Yet often still at eve, or early morn,
Among these ruins shagg'd with fern and thorn,
A pensive stranger from his lonely seat
Observes the rapid martin, threading fleet
The broken arch: or follows with his eye,
The wall-creeper that hunts the burnish'd fly;
Sees the newt basking in the sunny ray,
Or snail that sinuous winds his shining way,
O'er the time-fretted walls of Monica.
He comes not here, from the sepulchral stone
To tear the oblivious pall that Time has thrown,
But meditating, marks the power proceed
From the mapped lichen, to the plumed weed,
From thready mosses to the veined flower,
The silent, slow, but ever active power
Of Vegetative Life, that o'er Decay
Weaves her green mantle, when returning May
Dresses the ruins of Saint Monica.
Oh Nature ! ever lovely, ever new,
He whom his earliest vows has paid to you
Still finds, that life has something to bestow;
And while to dark Forgetfulness they go,
Man, and the works of man; immortal Youth,
Unfading Beauty, and eternal Truth,
Your Heaven-indited volume will display,
While Art's elaborate monuments decay,
Even as these shatter'd aisles, deserted Monica !
poem by Charlotte Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Monica
Under a lamp light
Monica stands at midnight,
And every guy think he can buy her love,
But money cant buy sweet lovin from monica.
Morning to moonshine,
Monica knows every line.
Dont ever propose cause monica knows, you know.
Shell turn up her nose and say what a fool you are.
I, I shall die,
I, I shall die if I should lose monica.
(oh monica my love.)
People can try,
People can try, but they cant buy monica, my love.
You take the sunshine,
Ill take the nightly shadows.
cause everyone knows that monica glows at night.
Shell do something wrong and prove to you she is right.
I, I shall die,
I, I shall die if I should lose monica.
(oh monica my love.)
People may try,
People may try, but they cant buy monica, my love.
Morning to moonshine,
Monica knows every line.
Dont ever propose cause monica knows, you know.
Shell turn up her nose and say what a fool you are.
Monica.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Monica
Look at monica walking in her sleep
Look at monica running through the fields
In her dream, so serene
Monica, monica
Hush, dont you say a word
Did you see the smile she made today?
Look at monica
Look at monica
Mornings coming ever so fast
Shadows realitys cast
More like a dream that just wont last
Look at monica walking in her sleep
Look at monica running through the fields
In her dream, so serene
Monica, monica
Please keep quiet, let her sleep
Cant you see the smile she made today?
song performed by by Extreme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Class Reunion (feat. Monica)
(feat. Monica)
[Monica]
It's a class reunion, you come home from the ATM (oh yeah)
[Wyclef (Monica)]
Monica you ready, oh yeah
Man she look so good
Rolling through the hood
God bless the dead (bless the dead)
Jerry Wonder knock on wood
She was a ghetto queen, yeah
Turned into a fiend, yeah
Night I heard her scream
? to a nightmare dream, oh yeah (oh)
[Wyclef]
She was mine, she was pop
She was hip, she was hot
She was too fly, butterfly
It was her time, her time
It was her time, her time
So much dope on the streets
That I'm praying for peace
But the poor gotta eat
Talking bout my time
Everybody say it's my time, oh yeah
[Wyclef (Monica)]
Baby girl, the world is yours, just look through
That open door, I'll be there for you
If you ever feeling blue (oh), it's a beautiful world
[Monica]
Baby boy, the world is yours, when you're sad
I'll be your joy, I'm still your friend
And I'm a love you till the end
[Monica]
Said he looks so real
When he was running on the football field
I love the cheerleader scream his name
Even in ? he had game
But didn't show up at the class reunion
And when I asked one of my girls what happened
That's when they told me he got life in prison
Caught up in the system
Trying to be a kingpin
The story never ever ends
[Monica (Wyclef)]
He was mine, he was fine
He was hip, he was hot
He was too fly, butterfly
It was his time, it was his time (oh why, oh why, oh why)
So much dope on the streets
And I'm praying for peace
But the poor gotta eat
Talking
song performed by by Wyclef Jean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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While Waiting for the Boys
You lay your bike
against the fence
and headed towards
the farmhouse
but Monica came out
of the house
and stood in front
of the door
where you going
with the boys?
she asked
the cinema
you replied
what are you going to see?
Kissing Cousins
going to see what?
it's a new film
by Elvis in it
you said
looking beyond her
towards the house
I'd like to come too
she said
will they let you?
they might
if you say I can
that's up to your mother
you said
but if you said
you'd like me
to come along
I'm sure she'd let me
she stood gazing at you
her arms folded waiting
another time maybe
you said
why another time
why not now?
I'm 17 you're just 14
don't think your parents'd
be keen on me
taking you out just yet
what do they know
she muttered
the door of the house
opened and her mother
came out of the door
hope you're not
bothering Benedict
she said
the boys will be out
in a moment
she said
turning to you
and giving Monica
a stern stare
ok
you said
I'll wait
by my bike
Monica pouted her lips
and followed you
as you walked
to your bike
in you come
young lady
don't want you pestering
the boys' friend when
they come calling
and so Monica turned away
following her mother
another daydream falling.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Class Reunion
[Monica]
It's a class reunion, you come home from the ATM (oh yeah)
[Wyclef (Monica)]
Monica you ready, oh yeah
Man she look so good
Rolling through the hood
God bless the dead (bless the dead)
Jerry Wonder knock on wood
She was a ghetto queen, yeah
Turned into a fiend, yeah
Night I heard her scream
? to a nightmare dream, oh yeah (oh)
[Wyclef]
She was mine, she was pop
She was hip, she was hot
She was too fly, butterfly
It was her time, her time
It was her time, her time
So much dope on the streets
That I'm praying for peace
But the poor gotta eat
Talking bout my time
Everybody say it's my time, oh yeah
[Wyclef (Monica)]
Baby girl, the world is yours, just look through
That open door, I'll be there for you
If you ever feeling blue (oh), it's a beautiful world
[Monica]
Baby boy, the world is yours, when you're sad
I'll be your joy, I'm still your friend
And I'm a love you till the end
[Monica]
Said he looks so real
When he was running on the football field
I love the cheerleader scream his name
Even in ? he had game
But didn't show up at the class reunion
And when I asked one of my girls what happened
That's when they told me he got life in prison
Caught up in the system
Trying to be a kingpin
The story never ever ends
[Monica (Wyclef)]
He was mine, he was fine
He was hip, he was hot
He was too fly, butterfly
It was his time, it was his time (oh why, oh why, oh why)
So much dope on the streets
And I'm praying for peace
But the poor gotta eat
Talking bout my time, my time
Everybody say my time, oh
[Monica (Wyclef)]
Baby boy, the world is yours, when you're sad
I'll be your joy, I'm still your friend
And I'm a love you till the end (it's a beautiful world)
[Wyclef (Monica)]
Baby girl, the world is yours, just look through
That open door, I'll be there for you
If you ever feeling blue (oh), it's a beautiful world
[Wyclef]
And I don't know much about English class
Math I didn't pass
Biology and chemistry
Was all a dream to me
[Monica]
I patiently wait for the bell
So I can see you after class
But now it's all in my pass
[Wyclef]
She was mine, she was pop
She was hip, she was hot
She was too fly, butterfly
It was her time, her time
It was her time, her time
So much dope on the streets
That I'm praying for peace
But the poor gotta eat
Talking bout my time
Everybody say it's my time, oh yeah
[Wyclef]
Baby girl, the world is yours, just look through
That open door, I'll be there for you
If you ever feeling blue it's a beautiful world
[Monica]
Baby boy, the world is yours, when you're sad
I'll be your joy, I'm still your friend
And I'm a love you till the end
[Wyclef]
Baby girl, the world is yours, just look through
That open door, I'll be there for you
If you ever feeling blue it's a beautiful world
[Monica]
Baby boy, the world is yours, when you're sad
I'll be your joy, I'm still your friend
And I'm a love you till the end
[Wyclef]
She was mine, she was pop
She was hip, she was hot
She was too fly, butterfly
It was her time, her time
It was her time, her time (let's go)
[Wyclef & Monica]
This is the class reunion
This is the class reunion
Reminisce on the high school days
song performed by by Wyclef Jean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Judo Practice.
You practiced
judo moves with Jim
on the grass
outside the farmhouse
where he lived
and his younger sister
stood on the periphery
watching the moves and falls
and she watched you
with her usual concentration
her eyes glued on you
her hands clapping
when you had Jim down
or made the right moves
and her mother
poked her head
out of the door
of the farmhouse
and said
Monica leave the boys alone
they don't want you
pestering them
I'm just watching
Monica called back
not doing any harm
do as you're told
her mother said firmly
and Monica slouched back
towards the farmhouse
cussing under her breath
kicking at the grass
as she went
I was only watching
she said to her mother's
disappearing back
then she paused
and looked back
at you and said
you don't mind do you?
no not at all
you said
but Jim said
pushing damp hair
from his sweaty face
go Monica
do as you're told
and she smiled at you
but gave Jim
a look
in passing
of sternness
and icy cold.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When Her Brothers Were Away.
When Monica asked
if she could go with you
and her brothers
bike riding
her mother said
no you're too young
or if she asked
to go with you
and Jim and Pete
to the cinema
to see the latest
Elvis flick
her mother said
definitely not
it's not for young girls
and Monica'd storm indoors
slamming the door
shouting I hate you all
but when you called one day
and her brothers were out
(gone to see their big brother
about some old motorbike)
her mother said
yes come in and wait
and Monica was
pleased as Punch
especially when
her mother said
you could stay to lunch
and I can show you
over the place
Monica said
and after lunch maybe
we can go for a bike ride
along the small lanes
and maybe you
could show me
some judo moves
and her mother said
we'll see I'm not sure
Benedict will want
to do those kind
of things with a girl
and went off
to make lunch
and Monica showed you
all over the house
whose room was whose
and up in the attic
she said
this is my room
and took your hand
and took you
to the window
and said
see the view I've got?
Isn't it the best?
and you said
yes it's good
and you took in the view
and looking around
the room you saw her bed
and the big pink elephant
there by the wall
staring at you
and she said
that's Pinkie
isn't she great?
sure
you said
and she took you
down the stairs
to the kitchen for lunch
and her mother
chatted away
about her sons
and Monica sat there
gawking at you
her eyes studying
each aspect of you
her eyes large
as saucers
blue and beautiful
and after lunch
you showed her
a few judo moves
which she loved
especially when
your hands moved her
and you sensed
her almost ready
to burst with joy
and just before
you were ready
to go for a ride
on the bikes
her brothers came
and shooed her away
and she went off
giving them the evil eye
but you she gave
the young girl wink
the we know
what they don't smile
and off you rode
with her brothers
but she kept
those moments with you
(to herself)
as if you were
Romeo and Juliet
fond lovers.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Be No. 1
Music : peter wolf, matthias jabs
Lyrics: klaus meine
Give me a job
The one i havn't got
Don't write me off at anytime
Don't ever leave me unsatisfied
I don't wanna come in a second
I just wanna come
Don't wanna be the last in line
Don't wanna be just left behind
And in the evening when i come home
It is time to throw my dog a bone
That's when i wear my shirt that says
In capital letters in capital letters
Isn't it fun fun fun to be number one
(he's got no job, got no blow got no monica to go to)
Isn't it fun fun fun to be number one
(he's a superstar, wunderbar, out of touch too much)
Don't tell me i'm small
An inch too short
I might not be your size but i'm sure great
And definitely underpaid
So give me a job
The one i haven't got
Don't tell me i'm too poor to join the club
To hang out with the big shots
And in the evening when i come home
It is time to give my dog a bone
That's when i wear my shirt that says
In capital letters in capital letters
Isn't it fun fun fun to be number one
(he's got no job, got no blow, got no monica to go to)
Isn't it fun fun fun to be number one
(he's a v.i.p. wannabe, all he ever wants is)
Isn't it fun fun fun to be number one
Isn't it fun fun fun yeah to be number one
(he's a v.i.p. wannabe all he ever wants is)
To be number one
And in the evening when i come home
It is time to throw my dog a bone
That's when i wear my shirt that says
In capital letters in capital letters
Isn't it fun fun fun to be number one
(he's got no job, got no blow got no monica to go to)
Isn't it fun fun fun yeah to be number one
(he's a superstar, wunderbar, out of touch too much)
Isn't it fun fun fun to be number one
Isn't it fun fun fun fun to be number one
To be number one
(fun, fun, fun)
To be number one
To be number one
(he's got no job, got no blow got no monica to go to)
To be number one
To be number one
(he's a superstar, wunderbar, out of touch too much)
To be number one
To be number one
(he's got no job, got no blow got no monica to go to)
Yeah
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Leg Anne and the Kid
Anne poked Monica
the girl with burn scars
with one of her crutches
and said
Scam scar face
me and the skinny kid
want to be alone
and Monica moved off
and said
I'm going to tell
Sister Bridget about you
Anne indicated for you
to sit in one of the chairs
on the lawn
and said to Monica
Go tell her then
and kiss her arse
while you're there
and Monica went off
and Anne eased herself
down into the other chair
and laid her crutches
against the round table
Well Kid how's it going?
All right
you replied
Just all right?
aren't you blown away
and isn't your heart faster
on my approach?
she laughed
and stared at you
Well?
she said
after a few moments
of silence
Did you manage
to bum me a smoke?
you fumbled
in your shirt pocket
and pulled out
a cigarette slightly bent
Well done you
Skinny Boy
and she took the cigarette
and put it in the pocket
of her cardigan and said
I'll have that later
when I'm in the john
having a pee
What if someone sees you?
you asked
What in the john?
I hope there'll be
no one in the john
with me
well unless you want to come
you're quite welcome
No
you said looking at
her straight black hair
and her dark eyes
and the one leg
sticking out
from her red skirt
she saw you staring
at her leg and said
I think you've fallen in love
with my lone leg
and she lifted her skirt
and revealed the leg stump
coming a little way
from her panty line
Have a good look Kid
and she laughed
and pulled your left hand
onto the stump
and held it there
and you sensed
the warmth and softness
and when she released
your hand you seemed
to take the impression
of the leg stump
on your palm and fingers
and odd
that years after that
that impression
like some ghost
still lingers.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wanted To Make Love To Monica
When Monica saw me sleeping
One day at dawn upon the wet grass,
She asked me, “Isn’t that a peculiar place to sleep? ”
I raised my waking eyes to look at her,
Her body was supple and sexy,
But not the stunning body of fifteen years ago,
She had gained a slight belly,
Somehow making her even more alluring;
I said, “It’s not such a bad place to rest,
The sparrows serenade me with joyous songs.”
I wanted to make love to Monica,
But I fondly gazed at one of my little sparrows
And went back to sleep.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mambo No. 5
Mambo No. 5 (A Little Bit Of ...)
Ladies and gentlemen, this is Mambo No 5
One, two , three four, five
everybody in the car so come on let's ride
To the liqueur-store around the corner,
the boys say they want some gin and juice
but I really don't wanna
beerbust like I had last week
I must stay deep 'cause talk is a cheap
I like Angela, Pamela, Sandra and Rita
and as I continue you know they're gettin' sweeter
so what can I do I really beg you my Lord
to me flirtin' it's just like a sport
anything fly it's all good let me dump it
please set in the trumpet
a little bit of Monica in my life
a little bit of Erica by my side
a little bit of Rita is all I need
a little bit of Tina is what I see
a little bit of Sandra in the sun
a little bit of Mary all night long
a little bit of Jessica here I am
a little bit of you makes me your man
jump up and down and move it all around
shake your head to the sound put your hands an the ground
take one step left and one step right
one to the front and one to the side
clap your hands once and clap your hands twice
and if it looks like this then you doin' it right
a little bit of Monica in my life
a little bit of Erica by my side
a little bit of Rita is all I need
a little bit of Tina is what I see
a little bit of Sandra in the sun
a little bit of Mary all night long
a little bit of Jessica here I am
a little bit of you makes me your man
Trumpet, the Trumpet!
Mambo No 5
a little bit of Monica in my life
a little bit of Erica by my side
a little bit of Rita is all I need
a little bit of Tina is what I see
a little bit of Sandra in the sun
a little bit of Mary all night long
a little bit of Jessica here I am
a little bit of you makes me your man
I do all to fall in love with a girl like you
You can't run and you can't hide you and me gonna touch the sky
song performed by by Lou Bega
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Saint Cloud
Soft spread the southern sumer night
Her veil of darksome blue;
Ten thousand stars combined to light
The terrace of Saint Cloud.
The evening breezes gently sigh'd,
Like breath of lover true,
Bewailing the deserted pride
And wreck of sweet Saint Cloud.
The drum's deep roll was heard afar,
The bugle wildly blew
Good-night to Hulan and Hussar
That garrison Saint Cloud.
The startled Naiads from the shade
With broken urns withdrew
And silenced was that proud cascade,
The glory of Saint Cloud.
We sate upon its steps of stone,
Nor could its silence rue
When waked, to music of our own,
The echoes of Saint Cloud.
Slow Seine might hear each lovely note
Fall light as summer dew
While through the moonless air they float
Prolong'd from fair Saint Cloud.
And sure a melody more sweet
His waters never knew,
Though music's self was wont to meet
With Princes at Saint Cloud.
Nor then, with more delighted ear,
The circle round her drew,
Than ours, when gather'd round to hear
Our songstress at Saint Cloud.
Few happy hours poor mortals pass-—
Then give those hours their due,
And rank among the foremost class
Our evenings at Saint Cloud.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Monica...
do not adore me,
i am not one of those gods
of your past
or your present, i do not exist in the future
there is none for us
or for me
for i am destined to simply be
a soap bubble
early morning being played
by a reckless
kid
in our place,
i admit i write
because i have only a very short hour left
to cherish
i know what is there three meters away from where we are sitting,
it is the longest stretch that i can make
do not ask
do not take this as a puzzle for you to solve
time unlocks the door and the answer comes out
like a light bulb that you switch on in the dark
if you only know what i am seeing
when i write these lines
you will never like me ever
ever in the last hours of your life
i am seeing myself
in these flashes of films
and you shall not believe
how you can hate me later on
because you think that
you understand me
completely
monica i am never myself
even once
in that ticking clock
i am not a hidden treasure
that you can share with anybody
when you finally find me
in one of those nooks
unlighted
i can only think of one option for you
and this was the same thing
that i did
when i found the one that i truly love
i keep my mouth shut
not because i never loved anymore
anyone
but because i was never loved
by what i really loved
because there is no point of co-mixing
where water
and oil meet.
i shared you once
the story written by Sartre
and i will repeat it
Monica, there is really
NO EXIT.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An actor works with their soul and their thought.
quote by Monica Bellucci
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Time destroys everything.
quote by Monica Bellucci
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I want to do a record with Monica Lewinsky.
quote by Luther Campbell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm kind of an insomniac and watch TV late at night.
quote by Monica Keena
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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the modern martyr in the kingdom of God
i've just seen the picture of a man
devout catholic
gunned down in broad day,
falling to the ground,
and declared another martyr for
mother church,
sooner he becomes a saint
because he died
to the hands of the fanatics
the unbelievers,
sometimes i ask myself if this is the only way to become
a martyr, the only way to be a saint,
(does it really matter if one becomes a saint?)
i guess, there is another happy child of God
who has worked for the church
who cooked faith, who served beliefs,
who traveled far just to show how good God is,
the happy child does not have to die
for God wants him to be with his side,
smiling and alive,
He too is a saint. He sowed happiness.
He did not plant guilt. He did not grown scruples.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We are in an electronic technology age now and it's about time we put away the old stuff.
quote by Monica Edwards
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Monica Seles: I'd hate to be next door to her on her wedding night.
quote by Peter Ustinov
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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