En.Citatepedia^®.ro

To the Memory of Claude Marquet

Because to him the wise gods gave
Rare gifts, to lesser folk denied,
He might have thriven, Mammon's slave,
Rich in the goods that small men crave,
But poor in all beside.

And yet, because his was the pride
Possessed by earnest men and brave,
He stayed by his weak brothers' side
And there he fought, loved, laughed and died,
And went, loved, to his grave.

Because his was the simple heart
That found small lure in pelf or praise,
For greater ends he plied his art,
And, asking little, played his part
A rich man all his days.

The simple heart, the single aim
That guided e'er his ready pen,
The gay indifference to Fame
Things such as these shall leave a name
Cherished 'mid fellow men.

And we who knew that steady gaze,
The open hand, the ready laugh,
The fighting face and kindly ways,
Know, too, his smiling scorn of praise.
Yet this for epitaph:

A fighter all his days was he,
Yet, dying, left no enemy.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Lost Master

"And when I come to die," he said,
"Ye shall not lay me out in state,
Nor leave your laurels at my head,
Nor cause your men of speech orate;
No monument your gift shall be,
No column in the Hall of Fame;
But just this line ye grave for me:
`He played the game.'"

So when his glorious task was done,
It was not of his fame we thought;
It was not of his battles won,
But of the pride with which he fought;
But of his zest, his ringing laugh,
His trenchant scorn of praise or blame:
And so we graved his epitaph,
"He played the game."

And so we, too, in humbler ways
Went forth to fight the fight anew,
And heeding neither blame nor praise,
We held the course he set us true.
And we, too, find the fighting sweet;
And we, too, fight for fighting's sake;
And though we go down in defeat,
And though our stormy hearts may break,
We will not do our Master shame:
We'll play the game, please God,
We'll play the game.

poem by Robert William Service
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Get Rich

Columbus sailed the ocean blue
To see what he would fine
With visions of another world
They said he'd lost his mind
But when he told them of the land he'd found
A land so rich with gold
To get the treasures on the other side
They left the lad of old to
(Chorus)
Get rich now
Get rich now
Get rich now
Get rich now
Napoleon thought that he could be
The ruler of it all
The things he wanted were so very big
But he was very small
They spread the word throughout the land
That he would soon be king
But his greed and pride got in the way
And he lost everything to
(Chorus)
Oh the president and the generals
Are getting ready for a war
The only thing that they don't know
Is what they're fighting for
They shine their suits of armor
And they tell us to prepare
While they take wealth and freedom
And just leave us standing there
Get rich now

song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prologue to Rhymes to be Traded for Bread

Even the shrewd and bitter,
Gnarled by the old world's greed,
Cherished the stranger softly
Seeing his utter need.
Shelter and patient hearing,
These were their gifts to him,
To the minstrel chanting, begging,
As the sunset-fire grew dim.
The rich said "you are welcome."
Yea, even the rich were good.
How strange that in their feasting
His songs were understood!
The doors of the poor were open,
The poor who had wandered too,
Who slept with never a roof-tree
Under the wind and dew.
The minds of the poor were open,
There dark mistrust was dead:
They loved his wizard stories,
They bought his rhymes with bread.

Those were his days of glory,
Of faith in his fellow-men.
Therefore to-day the singer
Turns beggar once again.

poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Upon Returning to the Country Road

Even the shrewd and bitter,
Gnarled by the old world's greed,
Cherished the stranger softly
Seeing his utter need.
Shelter and patient hearing,
These were their gifts to him,
To the minstrel, grimly begging
As the sunset-fire grew dim.
The rich said "You are welcome."
Yea, even the rich were good.
How strange that in their feasting
His songs were understood!
The doors of the poor were open,
The poor who had wandered too,
Who had slept with ne'er a roof-tree
Under the wind and dew.
The minds of the poor were open,
Their dark mistrust was dead.
They loved his wizard stories,
They bought his rhymes with bread.
Those were his days of glory,
Of faith in his fellow-men.
Therefore, to-day the singer
Turns beggar once again.

poem by Vachel Lindsay
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To: W A

Or ever the knightly years were gone
With the old world to the grave,
I was a King in Babylon
And you were a Christian Slave.

I saw, I took, I cast you by,
I bent and broke your pride.
You loved me well, or I heard them lie,
But your longing was denied.
Surely I knew that by and by
You cursed your gods and died.

And a myriad suns have set and shone
Since then upon the grave
Decreed by the King in Babylon
To her that had been his Slave.

The pride I trampled is now my scathe,
For it tramples me again.
The old resentment lasts like death,
For you love, yet you refrain.
I break my heart on your hard unfaith,
And I break my heart in vain.

Yet not for an hour do I wish undone
The deed beyond the grave,
When I was a King in Babylon
And you were a Virgin Slave.

poem by William Ernest Henley
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My Bowl Be Shared!

if wealth causes indifference,
apathy, and insulated selfish behavior...
let me be poor until i die.
let me be rich in my poverty...
and feel every small wound,
share every small sorrow,
dance with every small joy...
let me struggle with my brothers
to find human simple dreams.
let me feel companionship,
both the good and the bad.
and let me sleep with caring....
let my hands get dirty,
let my bowl be shared!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Broken Soldier

Here stands a broken soldier
One that has fought for his life
One who has fought for your rights
One who has fought with no end
And has asked for nothing in return

Here stands a broken soldier
Much like any other
Just trying to make it through the day
Helping to keep a nation together

There is no wish for fame
No wish for glory
You may not even know his name
Still you know he is a hero

This broken soldier
Has seen his share
He has learned much more
Than what you will learn from books
He has face you each and every worst fear
He has met pain
And death was always a close friend
Knocking on his door
Waiting to be let in
But this soldier
Wasn't ready to give in

He may wonder a street
And pass you by
Yet he is still fighting by your side
And for your rights

He may seem unimportant
For he played such a small part in this huge parade
But in a war
When he is fighting
That small part becomes the parade
And helps a thousand times more than you'd think

This broken soldier knows the risks
He knows the possibility
And yet he fights
For your rights
For your Justice
And at your Liberty

poem by Alandra Nicole Moreira
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Love Never Loved Me

I live for love, and all it brings
The heart it heals the song it sings
The sweetest kiss, the warm embrace
Will melt the ice before it breaks
No matter what I do, no matter what I say
What can I do when nothing stays the same
It's written in the stars, the story ends the same
Everything changes
Love never loved me
Love left me out in the cold
Love never loved me
Love gave up on me after all
I've taken chances, set them free
I've taken back virginity
I've been adored, I've been the one
I've broken hearts, I've had my fun
No matter what I do, no matter what I say
What can I do when nothing stays the same
It's written in the stars, the story ends the same
Everything changes
Love never loved me
Love left me out in the cold
Love never loved me
Love gave up on me after all
You can't break a heart that's already broken
You can't steal a heart that's already stolen
And what doesn't kill me is making me strong
I'm ready for love
You can't break a heart that's already broken
You can't steal a heart that's already stolen
And what doesn't kill me is making me strong
I'm ready for love
Love never loved me
You can't break a heart that's already broken
You can't steal a heart that's already stolen
My greatest desire is to love and be loved
Cos I'm a believer I'm not giving up
And what doesn't kill me is making me strong
I'm waiting, I'm willing, I'm ready for love
Love never loved me
Love left me out in the cold
Love never loved me
Love gave up on me after all
Love never loved me (love never loved me)
Love left me out in the cold
Love never loved me (love never loved me)
Love gave up on me after all

song performed by by Geri Halliwell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Have Always Loved You

Since the beginning of time
Since it started to rain
Since I heard you laugh
Since I felt your pain
I was too young, you were much younger
We were afraid of each other's hunger
I have always loved you
There's never been anyone else
I knew you before I knew myself
Oh my baby,
I have always loved you
Since we kissed the first time
Since we slept on the beach
You were too close for comfort
You were too far out of reach
You walked away,
I should have held you
Would you have stayed for me to tell you?
I have always loved you
There's never been anyone else
I knew you before I knew myself
Oh my baby,
I have always loved you
Years go by in a matter of days
And though we go separate ways
I never stop dreaming of you
I have always loved you
And when you call it makes me cry
We never made time for you and
I if I could live it all again
I'd never let it end,
I'd still be with you
Oh
God, I miss you
I have always loved you
There's never been anyone else
I knew you before
I knew myself
Oh my baby,
I have always loved you
Years go by in a matter of days
And though we go separate ways
I never stop dreaming of you
I have always loved you

song performed by by Enrique Iglesias
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'd Rather

I’d rather have wealth that is not too much
Than to be truly rich who can’t sleep at night

I’d rather have one best friend who stayed
Than to have many and left betrayed

I’d rather own simple things and have a humble life
Than to be luxurious but drowned in debts and credit cards

I’d rather be who I am and feel lucky
Than to be pretty through cosmetic surgery

I’d rather be a well-guided child
Than to be old but can’t be a guide

I’d rather be all alone and right
Than to be with them with no peace at heart

I’d rather try yet get no fame
Than to do nothing because of shame

poem by Rose de Ramar
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Three Graves

HOW did he live, this dead man here,
With the temple above his grave?
He lived as a great one, from cradle to bier
He was nursed in luxury, trained in pride,
When the wish was born, it was gratified;
Without thanks he took, without heed he gave.
The common man was to him a clod
From whom he was far as a demigod.
His duties? To see that his rents were paid;
His pleasure? To know that the crowd obeyed.
His pulse, if you felt it, throbbed apart,
With a separate stroke from the people's heart.
But whom did he love, and whom did he bless?
Was the life of him more than a man's, or less?
I know not. He died. There was none to blame,
And as few to weep; but these marbles came
For the temple that rose to preserve his name!

How did he live, that other dead man,
From the graves apart and alone?
As a great one, too? Yes, this was one
Who lived to labor and study and plan.
The earth's deep thought he loved to reveal;
He banded the breast of the land with steel;
The thread of his toil he never broke;
He filled the cities with wheels and smoke,
And workers by day and workers by night,
For the day was too short for his vigor's flight.
Too firm was he to be feeling and giving:
For labor, for gain, was a life worth living.
He worshiped Industry, dreamt of her, sighed for her.
Potent he grew by her, famous he died for her.
They say he improved the world in his time,
That his mills and mines were a work sublime.
When he died—the laborers rested, and sighed;
Which was it—because he had lived, or died?

And how did he live, that dead man there,
In the country churchyard laid?
O, he? He came for the sweet field air;
He was tired of the town, and he took no pride
In its fashion or fame. He returned and died
In the place he loved, where a child he played
With those who have knelt by his grave and prayed.
He ruled no serfs, and he knew no pride;
He was one with the workers side by side;
He hated a mill, and a mine, and a town,
With their fever of misery, struggle, renown;
He could never believe but a man was made
For a nobler end than- the glory of trade.
For the youth he mourned with an endless pity
Who were cast like snow on the streets of the city.
He was weak, maybe; but he lost no friend;
Who loved him once, loved on to the end.
He mourned all selfish and shrewd endeavor;
But he never injured a weak one—never.
When censure was passed, he was kindly dumb;
He was never so wise but a fault would come;
He was never so old that he failed to enjoy
The games and the dreams he had loved when a boy.
He erred, and was sorry; but never drew
A trusting heart from the pure and true.
When friends look back from the years to be,
God grant they may say such things of me.

poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Penelope

Love, like a wind, shook wide your blosmy eyes,
You trembled, and your breath came sobbing-wise
For that you loved me.

You were so kind, so sweet, none could withhold
To adore, but that you were so strange, so cold;
For that you loved me.

Like to a box of spikenard did you break
Your heart about my feet. What words you spake!
For that you loved me.

Life fell to dust without me; so you tried
All carefullest ways to drive me from your side,
For that you loved me.

You gave yourself as children give, that weep
And snatch back, with--'I meant you not to keep!'
For that you loved me.

I am no woman, girl, nor ever knew
That love could teach all ways that hate could do
To her that loved me.

Have less of love, or less of woman in
Your love, or loss may even from this begin--
That you so love me.

For, wild Penelope, the web you wove
You still unweave, unloving all your love;
Is this to love me,

Or what rights have I that scorn could deny?
Even of your love, alas, poor Love must die,
If so you love me!

poem by Francis Thompson
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The Answer

Men and boys, O fathers, brothers,
Burst these fetters round you bound.
Women, sisters, wives and mothers,
Lift your faces from the ground!
O Democracy, O People,
East and West and North and South,
Rise together, one for ever,
Strike this Crime upon the mouth!
Bid them not, the men who loved you,
Those who fought for you and died,
Scorn you that you broke a small Crime,
Left a great Crime pass in pride!
England, France, the played-out countries,
Let them reek there in their stew,
Let their past rot out their present,
But the Future is with you!
O America, O first-born
Of the age that yet shall be
Where all men shall be as one man,
Noble, faithful, fearless, free! —
O America, O paramour
Of the foul slave-owner Pelf,
You who saved from slavery others,
Now from slavery save yourself! —
Save yourself, though, anguish-shaken,
You cry out and bow your head,
Crying 'Why am I forsaken?'
Crying 'It is finishèd!'
Save yourself, no God will save you;
Not one angel can he give!
They and He are dead and vanished,
And 'tis you, 'tis you must live!
Risen again, fire-tried, victorious,
From the grave of Crime down-hurled,
Peerless, pure, serene and glorious,
Wield the sceptre of the world!

poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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The soldiers fought

The soldiers fought a fight, and went for us,

They went not thinking of themselves, and no fuss;

Some were injured. Yet in such agony they fought,

And some carried back to safety, while the enemy was sought.

Those soldiers were so very brave, fighting in our place,

Marching altogether, In order and without grace;

They never knew if they'd get back home at all,

All they did was fighting to win, the problem wasn't small.

And a lot of those brave soldiers, lost arms and legs, it's so,

But some very brave soldiers, where they died we don't know;

And this is why the legacy, we remember them, at set of sun,

And thank all these brave soldiers, for the good that was done.

poem by Margaret Haig
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Teach Me, Lord

Please teach me, Lord, I'm ready now,
As ready as could be,
No longer proud and so I bow
Before Your Majesty...
For who am I and what am I
Of all on Earth below?
And yet for me, Your Son would die,
And to His Cross would go...

They beat Him up, they crushed His face,
They scourged His back as well...
You placed on Christ our great disgrace...
That grace saves us from Hell...
To think, they forced a crown of thorns
Into Christ's battered head
And Mother Mary deeply mourns
Lord Jesus lying dead...

But God, You would not spare Your Son!
You raised Him from the Tomb,
You glorified what Christ had done,
You overcame the gloom...
You sent Your Spirit to the Earth,
For Pentecostal praise,
To sanctify and prove His worth,
For only Christ obeys...

The Saviour of the world lives on,
He lives in hearts now warmed,
Because the hearts of stone are gone,
God-blessed, reborn, transformed.
The mortal flesh gets old and dies,
Our riches turn to dust,
Yet all the faithful realise -
The Trinity we trust...

That's why the rich and poor alike
Give money left and right,
The iron's hot and so they strike
And give with all their might.
The widow's mite was praised by Christ,
For she gave all she had...
Thus God knew what was sacrificed
And He was mighty glad...

Do not condemn the poor, my friends,
God hears their prayers each day...
He shares a love that never ends
And never fades away...
One day, the Son of Man will claim
The Bride of Christ and more...
One day, the world will praise His Name!
That's not what He died for...

He died to set us free from sin,
He died our lives to save,
He died our precious souls to win,
He died our sins to waive...
He lives to bless us, every one,
He lives to guide us through...
And blessed are those who hear God's Son,
Who whispers, 'I LOVE YOU...'

Please teach me, Lord, I'm ready now,
As ready as could be,
No longer proud and so I bow
Before Your Majesty...
For who am I and what am I
Of all on Earth below?
And yet for me, Your Son would die
And to His Cross would go...

Denis Martindale, copyright, May 2011.

poem by Denis Martindale
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Boredom

You will feel boredom
Even if u reach stardom
Is there any sense or wisdom?
If there is restriction and no freedom

Individuality will be on vane
Total eclipse on thoughts and on brain
Guided by others on important matters
Reading on doted line by merely looking at letters

You have everything at your disposal
Daily new suggestions and big proposals
Acting on device which is so mechanical
Time may come when need advices only medical

Time and tide wait for none
Fame may be enjoyed for self and alone
It has to come by dint of pure ability
Not by simple praise or enough publicity

Wise may absorb with all its ills
Strong will power may prevail and kill
Simple arrogance and false pride
Not allowing unnecessary things to ride

It is sign of simple maturity
Not even small age may need clarity
It is wisdom and clear long vision
That may bring fame with clear precision

Nothing to hide and nothing to seek
Look so powerful and not to look weak
Almighty may help to achieve the goal
As diamonds are dug from thick black coal

You are product of mighty bless
Whatever you get may not be less
You may have long followers and name in press
Simple fact may emerge and you can’t suppress

High rise or fame is matter of essence
You may feel rightly with HIS presence
All names and honour may be useless in his absence
False stardom or freedom may have no sense

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Son of a Fool

Gyved and chained in his father's home,
He toiled 'neath a conqueror's rule;
Bowed to the earth in the land of his birth;
The Slave who was Son of a Fool.

Poor remnant he of a conquered race,
Long shorn of its power and pride,
No reverence shone in his sullen face
When they told how that race had died.
But the meed that he gave to his father's name
Was a down-drooped head and a flush of shame.

Burned in his brain was the pitiful tale
Of a sabre too late unsheathed;
Deep in his heart lay the poisoned dart
Of the shame that his sire bequeathed:
The searing shame of a laggard life,
Of an arm too weak in the hour of strife.

Oh, the Fool had reigned full many a year
In the Land of the Bounteous Gifts,
Dreaming and drifting, with never a fear,
As a doomed fool pleasantly drifts;
And he ate his fill of the gifts she gave
The Fool who was sire of a hopeless Slave.

Through years of plenty and years of peace
he lolled in the pleasing shade,
Marking his flocks and his herds increase,
Watching his waxing trade;
And he smiled when he heard of the old world's wars,
With never a care for his own rich stores.

Year by year as his harvest grew,
He gleaned with a lightsome heart;
His barns he filled, and he sowed and tilled,
Trading in port and mart.
Proud of his prowess in psort and trade
Was the Fool, who scoffed at an alien raid.

Little he recked of the gathering cloud
That boded a swift disgrace.
Was he not seed of a manly breed,
Proud son of a warlike race?
And he told of the deeds that his sires had done
While he wielded a bat in the place of a gun.

Small were his fears in the rich fat years,
Loud was his laugh of scorn
When they whispered low of a watching foe,
Greedy for gold and corn;
A foe grown jealous of trade an pow'r,
Marking the teasure, and waiting the hour.

'Twas a cheerful Fool, but a Fool foredoomed
Gazed out on a clear spring morn;
And his eye ranged wide o'er the countryside,
With its treasures, its kine and corn.
And, 'Mine, all mine!' said the prosperous Fool.
'And it never shall pass to an alien rule!'

And, e'en when the smoke of the raiders' ships
Trailed out o'er the northern skies,
His laugh was loud: ''Tis a summer cloud,'
Said the Fool in his Paradise.
And, to guard his honor, he gave a gun
To the feeble hands of his younger son.

Oh, a startled Fool, and a Fool in haste
Awoke on a later day,
When they sped the word that a foe laid waste
His ports by the smiling bay,
And his voice was shrill as he bade his sons
Haste out to the sound of the booming guns.

He was brave, they tell, as a fool is brave,
With an oath 'tween his hard-clenched teeth,
When he found the sword that he fain would wave
Held fast in its rusty sheath;
When he learned that the hand, so skilled in play,
Was the hand of a child that fatal day.

And scarce had he raised his rallying cry,
Scarce had he called one note,
When he died, as ever a foo must die,
With his war-song still in his throat.
And an open ditch was the hasty grave
Of the Fool who fathered a hopeless Slave.

They point the moral, they tell the tale,
And the old world wags its head:
'If a Fool hath treasure, and Might prevail,
Then the Fool must die,' 'tis said.
And the end of it all is a broken gun
And the heritage gleaned by a hapless son.

Gyved and chained in his father's home,
He toiled 'neath a conqueror's rule;
While they flung in his face the taunt of his race:
A Slave and the Son of a Fool.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Ready Steady Go

Ready, steady, go
Im not in love with television
Im not in love with the radio
Im not in love with the kings road
Because Im in love with cathy mcgowan - she said
Ready steady go - all things she said
Ready steady go - wasnt it fabulous
Ready (ready) steady (steady) go
Im not in love with juke box jury
Im not in love with thank you jucky stars
Im not in love with ttttwiggy
Because Im in love with cathy mcgowan - she said
Ready steady go - all things she said
Ready steady go - wasnt it fabulous
Ready (ready) steady (steady) go
Im still in love with the beatles
I was in love with the stones, no satisfaction
I was in love with bobby dylan
Because Im in love with rocknroll
Ready steady go - all things she said
Ready steady go - wasnt it fabulous
Ready (ready) steady (steady) go
Ready steady go!
Go! go! go!
Ready steady go!
Ready steady who
Ready steady stone
Go! go go go

song performed by by Billy Idol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Other Side Of Life

(alan obryant)
Praise God I feel like singing
Im on the other side of life now
All my days of sorrow
And tears for my loved ones
I wish I could tell them the door that I feel
Though my body is weary
My soul is uplifted
My sins are forgiven and my jesus is real
Praise God I feel like singing
Im on the other side of life now
Though my eyes are dim
I see heaven clearly
Though my voice grows feeble I sing just the same
In my heart theres a song
As I see the gates open
Ill sing forever my joyous refrain
Praise God I feel like singing
Im on the other side of life now
Praise God I feel like singing
Im on the other side of life now

song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To be the Veda

Who am I?
Who put me here?
Why am I here?
What should I do?

Who will tell me who I am?
Who will tell me, who put me here?
Who will tell me, why I'm here,
and tell me then, what I should do? ..

Sometimes, I am all thankfulness
for what keeps all of me alive;
is there a greater one whom I may thank?

And sometimes, I'm alive with praise;
Is there a greater one whom I may praise?

Sometimes, as thunder rolls and lightning strikes,
earth quakes; seas foam,
I am all fear; is there a one
who’ll tell me, the other, or the greater
things that I should fear,
and tell me what I need not fear?

From day to day, my thankfulness
wells up for this; and then for that:
the earth that yields me food,
the rain that helps it grow,
the sun and light that help it ripen,
the air that I must breathe,
the sounds that draw me to my fellow men:

so are there many such, whose mighty powers
I should thank and praise,
or is there only One?

Or are there many in the One
whom I should thank and praise –
and what then do these greater powers
know of each other; know of that One?

Sometimes, when all is silent, still,
I seem to have a hint of whom I am;
of why I’m here; what I should do;

then who will tell me the greater more
of all the more I think I know?

Sometimes, when all is silent, still,
I wish to spend my days deep in that place;
but I must work; then should I trust
some other man or woman, who will spend
their days in thanking, praising, in my place?
or can my work be also thanks and praise?
who judges thanks and praise enough?

Sometimes, when all is silent, still,
I feel a greatness in me, that
joins me to all things in myself..
who shall tell me more of this?

Sometimes, when all is silent, still,
I seek for sounds, and words, and song,
to measure all that this heart feels:
oh, who will teach me greater words?

Is there a teacher, and a taught?
Or is the teacher all around?
Or is the teacher all within?

Oh, who will tell me whom I am,
in words that sing as from myself?

*

[An ongoing attempt to ‘imagine myself’ into the spirit of the Veda]

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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