Faithful In Vanity-Fair
I.
THE great human whirlpool--'t is seething and seething:
On! No time for shrieking out--scarcely for breathing:
All toiling and moiling, some feebler, some bolder,
But each sees a fiend-face grim over his shoulder:
Thus merrily live they in Vanity-fair.
The great human caldron--it boils ever higher:
Some drowning, some sinking; while some, stealing nigher
Athirst, come and lean o'er its outermost verges,
Or touch, as a child's feet touch, timorous, the surges--
One plunge--lo! more souls swamped in Vanity-fair.
Let's live while we live; for to-morrow all's over:
Drink deep, drunkard bold; and kiss close, maddened lover;
Smile, hypocrite, smile; it is no such hard labor,
While each stealthy hand stabs the heart of his neighbor--
Faugh! Fear not: we've no hearts in Vanity-fair.
The mad crowd divides and then soon closes after:
Afar towers the pyre. Through the shouting and laughter
'What new sport is this?' gasps a reveller, half turning.--
'One Faithful, meek fool, who is led to the burning,
He cumbered us sorely in Vanity-fair.
'A dreamer, who held every man for a brother;
A coward, who, smit on one cheek, gave the other;
A fool, whose blind soul took as truth all our lying,
Too simple to live, so best fitted for dying:
Sure, such are best swept out of Vanity-fair.'
II.
SILENCE! though the flames arise and quiver:
Silence! though the crowd howls on forever:
Silence! Through this fiery purgatory
God is leading up a soul to glory.
See, the white lips with no moans are trembling,
Hate of foes or plaint of friends' dissembling;
If sighs come--his patient prayers outlive them,
'Lord--these know not what they do. Forgive them!'
Thirstier still the roaring flames are glowing;
Fainter in his ear the laughter growing;
Brief will last the fierce and fiery trial,
Angel welcomes drown the earth denial.
Now the amorous death-fires, gleaming ruddy,
Clasp him close. Down drops the quivering body,
While through harmless flames ecstatic flying
Shoots the beauteous soul. This, this is dying.
Lo, the opening sky with splendor rifted,
Lo, the palm-branch for his hands uplifted:
Lo, the immortal chariot, cloud-descending,
And its legioned angels close attending.
Let his poor dust mingle with the embers
While the crowds sweep on and none remembers:
Saints unnumbered through the Infinite Glory,
Praising God, recount the martyr's story.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Related quotes
Vanity Fair
In Vanity Fair, as we bow and smile,
As we talk of the opera after the weather,
As we chat of fashion and fad and style,
We know we are playing a part together.
You know that the mirth she wears, she borrows;
She knows you laugh but to hide your sorrows;
We know that under the silks and laces,
And back of beautiful, beaming faces,
Lie secret trouble and grim despair,
In Vanity Fair.
In Vanity Fair, on dress parade,
Our colors look bright and our swords are gleaming;
But many a uniform's worn and frayed,
And most of the weapons, despite their seeming.
Are dull and blunted and badly battered,
And close inspection will show how tattered
And stained are the banners that float above us.
Our comrades hate, while they swear to love us;
And robed like Pleasure walks gaunt-eyed Care,
In Vanity Fair.
In Vanity Fair, as we strive for place,
As we rush and jostle and crowd and hurry,
We know the goal is not worth the race-
We know the prize is not worth the worry;
That all our gain means loss for another;
That in fighting for self we wound each other;
That the crown of success weighs hard and presse
The brow of the victor with thorns-not caresses;
That honors are empty and worthless to wear,
In Vanity Fair.
But in Vanity Fair, as we pass along,
We meet strong hearts that are worth the knowing;
'Mong poor paste jewels that deck the throng,
We see a solitaire sometimes glowing.
We find grand souls under robes of fashion,
'Neath light demeanors hide strength and passion;
And fair fine honor and Godlike resistance.
In halls of pleasure may have existence;
And we find pure altars and shrines of prayer,
In Vanity Fair.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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On Anne Allen
The wind blew keenly from the Western sea,
And drove the dead leaves slanting from the tree--
Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saith--
Heaping them up before her Father's door
When I saw her whom I shall see no more--
We cannot bribe thee, Death.
She went abroad the falling leaves among,
She saw the merry season fade, and sung--
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--
Freely she wandered in the leafless wood,
And said that all was fresh, and fair, and good--
She knew thee not, O Death.
She bound her shining hair across her brow,
She went into the garden fading now;
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--
And if one sighed to think that it was sere,
She smiled to think that it would bloom next year!
She feared thee not, O Death.
Blooming she came back to the cheerful room
With all the fairer flowers yet in bloom--
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--
A fragrant knot for each of us she tied,
And placed the fairest at her Father's side--
She cannot charm thee, Death.
Her pleasant smile spread sunshine upon all;
We heard her sweet clear laughter in the Hall--
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--
We heard her sometimes after evening prayer,
As she went singing softly up the stair--
No voice can charm thee, Death.
Where is the pleasant smile, the laughter kind,
That made sweet music of the winter wind?
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--
Idly they gaze upon her empty place,
Her kiss hath faded from her Father's face--
She is with thee, O Death.
poem by Edward Fitzgerald
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Weary Of The World, And With Heaven Most Dear
Farewell, world, farewell
As thrall here I’m weary and no more will dwell,
The manifold burdens that on me have lain,
I wrest them now from me and do them disdain,
I wrench myself free, though am wearied withal:
’Tis vanity all,
’Tis vanity all.
And what everywhere
Does this world embellish with visage so fair?
’Tis all merely shadows and baubles of glass,
’Tis all merely bubbles and clattering brass,
’Tis all but thin ice, filth and mischief withal:
’Tis vanity all,
’Tis vanity all.
My years what are they?
That furtively dwindle and sidle away?
And what are my worries? My thought-troubled mind?
My joy or my sorrow? My fancies so blind?
And what do my work, moil and toil all recall?
’Tis vanity all,
’Tis vanity all.
Oh riches and gold,
You false earthly idol so bright to behold,
You are though among the deceits the world brings
That wax, wane and alter with all other things.
You are but vain glory whate’er may befall:
’Tis vanity all,
’Tis vanity all.
Ah, honour – ’tis what?
Your crowns and your laurels proclaim what you’re not,
And envy consumes you and sits on your back,
You lack peace of mind and are prone to attack!
You stumble where others contrive not to fall:
’Tis vanity all,
’Tis vanity all.
Ah, favour and grace
That mist-like enfold us, are gone without trace.
You fickle infl ator that puffs up the mind,
You thousand-eyed creature that e’en so are blind,
When viewed ’gainst the sun one can see that you pall:
’Tis vanity all,
’Tis vanity all.
Ah, friendship and trust,
That veers vanes to happiness with every gust!
You handsome deceiver, you fortunate pup,
That fails us so often in sorrow’s deep cup
You say what experience has us recall:
’Tis vanity all,
’Tis vanity all.
Ah, joys of the flesh
That many have fatally snared in their mesh,
You quick-burning tinder, you spark on the wind,
Have sown flames eternal for those that have sinned,
Your cup seems like honey, the drink though is gall:
’Tis vanity all,
’Tis vanity all.
Farewell, then, farewell
No more your deceits shall my soul now compel,
Oh world of delusion, I now you dismiss,
Consign to oblivion’s deepest abyss,
My grief and affliction no more me shall chafe:
With Abraham safe,
With Abraham safe.
There all of my years
Will start in eternity’s spring without tears,
My days will not dawn with the rise of the sun,
Nor moon’s wax or wane tell when night has begun,
My sun is Lord Jesus with rays like gold staves:
With Abraham safe,
With Abraham safe.
My riches and gold
Will always be mine both to have and to hold,
No robber can ever deprive me of them,
No bartering cause me to part with one gem,
I never will find myself left as a waif:
With Abraham safe,
With Abraham safe.
My honour is won
From that throne my Jesus is sitting upon,
A crown filled with glory for me is in store,
With blood of the lamb it is gilt ever more,
’Tis mine though the devil me gladly would strafe:
With Abraham safe,
With Abraham safe.
With grace I will shine
As one of the angelic host so divine,
No envious eye shall my face ever see,
God’s countenance gaze ever-smiling on me,
There will I pour scorn on death’s envious grave:
With Abraham safe,
With Abraham safe.
There I have a friend,
My Jesus who loves me I love without end,
My eye will regard him unclouded and fair,
The heavenly torch of his love proffered there,
In spirit Love’s blaze I eternal may crave:
With Abraham safe,
With Abraham safe.
My rapture and joy
Are quickened when angels their trumpets employ,
But God is all joy both for me and their kind!
Rejoice then, my soul, all the world leave behind!
Mind well on your heart God his joy will engrave:
With Abraham safe,
With Abraham safe.
poem by Thomas Kingo
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The Dream Land
I
To think that men of former days
In naked truth deserved the praise
Which, fain to have in flesh and blood
An image of imagined good,
Poets have sung and men received,
And all too glad to be deceived,
Most plastic and most inexact,
Posterity has told for fact;
To say what was, was not as we,
This also is a vanity.
II
Ere Agamemnon, warriors were,
Ere Helen, beauties equalling her,
Brave ones and fair, whom no one knows,
And brave or fair as these or those.
The commonplace whom daily we
In our dull streets and houses see,
To think of other mould than these
Were Cato, Solon, Socrates,
Or Mahomet or Confutze,
This also is a vanity.
III
Hannibal, Cæsar, Charlemain,
And he before, who back on Spain
Repelled the fierce inundant Moor;
Godfrey, St. Louis, wise and pure,
Washington, Cromwell, John, and Paul,
Columbus, Luther, one and all,
Go mix them up, the false and true,
With Sindbad, Crusoe, or St. Preux,
And say as he was, so was he,
This also is a vanity.
IV
Say not: Behold it here or there,
Or on the earth, or in the air.
That better thing than can be seen
Is neither now nor e’er has been;
It is not in this land or that,
But in a place we soon are at,
Where all can seek and some can find,
Where hope is liberal, fancy kind,
And what we wish for we can see,
Which also is a vanity.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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If I Could Only Bear My Own Silence
IF I COULD ONLY BEAR MY OWN SILENCE
If I could only bear my own silence
If I could only be quiet and still
If I could only let the world say itself
Without my commentary,
If I could only be wise enough
To know all my words
‘Vanity of vanity of vanity.
’
Oh again and again and again
As now
I must say that I am -
But in this world of billions now
And billions more before
And billions more after
Why me?
Why my name?
‘Vanity of vanities’
All aloud again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Take Vanity Away
Oh take vanity away from me.
Make pure only my heart.
For vanity takes away from me
the most important part.
Let him that sees me, see past my form
and concentrate on my soul.
For that is of my body
is never the starring role.
What lies within the strength of my mind
is what should be possessed,
not the image I show to you,
not the way I'm dressed.
For outward appearance cannot compare
to the inner beauty inside.
Please let vanity be cast away
and take away my pride.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Brother, You’ll Take My Hand
NOT to the sober and staid,
Leading a quiet life,
But to men whose paths are laid
Ever through storm and strife—
Here is a song from me,
Sent to the tragic West,
Message of sympathy
To the hearts that can never rest.
This is the song I send
Out to the Western land—
Sinner, and martyr, and friend,
Brother! you’ll take my hand.
To you who have loved and lost;
To you whose souls have died
Cursing a fair false face
And the red warm lips that lied;
Loved with a boyish love,
With a love that was pure and true,
That set one woman above
The world that was known to you;
Eating your heart out now
Alone on a waste of sand—
I have been played with too.
Brother! you’ll take my hand.
To you who were loved too well,
And who cast that love aside
When your vanity was replete
And your passion was satisfied—
Haunted now day and night;
Haunted in every place
By the eyes of a suicide,
Set in a dead girl’s face.
Crouched in your misery
Out where the stars are grand—
O I am haunted too!
Brother! you’ll take my hand.
To you who had wealth or name,
Friends, love, and a future fair,
And who sacrificed all for drink
And the nights of Leicester Square:
In by the drunken town,
Out on the barren tramp,
Pacing it up and down
Alone by the listening camp;
Crouched in your agony,
Hiding your eyes with your hand—
I had the ball at my feet—
Brother! I understand.
There is a light for all;
Hold up your head and live!
Forgive the woman who wronged,
And the dead girl will forgive.
Brood not, but work for good;
Work in the world of men—
Strong is the man who fell
And rose from the depths again.
There shall be peace for you,
Sinners, who win the land.
I would fight upward too—
Brother! you’ll take my hand.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Vanity, Vanity
Vanity, Vanity, all is vanity; words expressed to you and me,
All our labors, here on earth, and what ultimately is its worth?
All men are born to just die, a common destiny for you and I,
And all this life is meaningless, words Solomon uttered to us.
The wisest man to ever live, parting words that he would give,
To all of the people of his age, recorded on Scripture’s page,
And even for our age to read; words of wisdom we can heed,
As we reflect, also, on our life, in the blessings and the strife.
He speaks of life upon earth, through to death, from his birth,
Of all the events in between, as we are in this temporal scene,
And just how empty it can be, when peoples discount eternity,
And that lasting Hope, God gives, to every soul that still lives.
Friend, Ecclesiastes is the book, if one desires to take a look,
At other things Solomon said; wisdom, many souls have read,
While he draws conclusions to, life lived daily, by me and you,
On the planet, of God’s Design, Who changes not, in our time.
With everything Solomon knew, what is a conclusion he drew?
In all times consider The Creator, this world’s Lord and Savior,
Fear God and keep His Law, as He alone, can save one’s soul,
And use your life to glorify, The Lord God, Who reigns on high.
(Copyright ©07/2010)
Gone Fishing.
I do not want to be involved, at your grand table of feast`s...For I will not drink blood with such shallow of beautifully dressed Beasts....I want no place where this meal be served....For I find all the vanity involved, to be absurd..
Your wills for ways in which that you think,
to me, a pathetic own worst enemy philosophy, in your sea of vanity you deserve to sink.
Governed by rules, the majority need be,
but in these laws dictated.please ffs do not include me.
All treated as equal? ...simply for ease of the rule,
is not fair to one or everyone, the clever.... or at least the fool.
poem by James Urwin
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Vanity Kills
Have you heard the latest? (you love you)
Have you seen who just walked in (vain vain vain vain)
(uh huh, you love you) right over there
Shes so vain vain vain vain
Vain vain vain vain
Im glad youve found someone who loves you
But sad to say that someone is you
And now perhaps youll both be happy
Guess that makes two just you and you
Someone who cares so much about you
But does that someone have to be you
Bom bom bom bom bom bom bom bom yeah
Bom bom bom bom bom bom bom bom yeah
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, it kills
So glad I found you glancing in the mirror
Gazing deeply at loves patron saint
Admire the frame, survey the scenery
Or are you just inspecting the paint
Temptations strong modestys so weak
High on yourself humble you aint
Bom bom bom bom bom bom bom bom yeah
Bom bom bom bom bom bom bom bom yeah
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills (no way)
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, it kills
So vain, vain vain vain
You love you (yeah)
Give it, give it us, give it us
So vain, so vain, so vain
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, if the blast dont get you
Then the fallout will
You love you
song performed by by Abc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The White Witch
O, brothers mine, take care! Take care!
The great white witch rides out to-night,
Trust not your prowess nor your strength;
Your only safety lies in flight;
For in her glance there is a snare,
And in her smile there is a blight.
The great white witch you have not seen?
Then, younger brothers mine, forsooth,
Like nursery children you have looked
For ancient hag and snaggled tooth;
But no, not so; the witch appears
In all the glowing charms of youth.
Her lips are like carnations red,
Her face like new-born lilies fair,
Her eyes like ocean waters blue,
She moves with subtle grace and air,
And all about her head there floats
The golden glory of her hair.
But though she always thus appears
In form of youth and mood of mirth,
Unnumbered centuries are hers,
The infant planets saw her birth;
The child of throbbing Life is she,
Twin sister to the greedy earth.
And back behind those smiling lips,
And down within those laughing eyes,
And underneath the soft caress
Of hand and voice and purring sighs,
The shadow of the panther lurks,
The spirit of the vampire lies.
For I have seen the great white witch,
And she has led me to her lair,
And I have kissed her red, red lips
And cruel face so white and fair;
Around me she has twined her arms,
And bound me with her yellow hair.
I felt those red lips burn and sear
My body like a living coal;
Obeyed the power of those eyes
As the needle trembles to the pole;
And did not care although I felt
The strength go ebbing from my soul.
Oh! she has seen your strong young limbs,
And heard your laughter loud and gay,
And in your voices she has caught
The echo of a far-off day,
When man was closer to the earth;
And she has marked you for her prey.
She feels the old Antæan strength
In you, the great dynamic beat
Of primal passions, and she sees
In you the last besieged retreat
Of love relentless, lusty, fierce,
Love pain-ecstatic, cruel-sweet.
O, brothers mine, take care! Take care!
The great white witch rides out to-night.
O, younger brothers mine, beware!
Look not upon her beauty bright;
For in her glance there is a snare,
And in her smile there is a blight.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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The happy story right now is the full page in Vanity Fair, which gives me a great deal of exposure.
quote by Jackie DeShannon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Complaints Return Upon Themselves
THE COMPLAINTS RETURN UPON THEMSELVES
The complaints return upon themselves
There is only old age under the sun.
Vanity of vanity of vanities
I am the greatest vanity of all.
Even the morning light
That usually wakes my soul
Cannot break the dim foreboding
Of Hell on the horizon.
I will die
I will go down
I know.
But my People
This Land
Will You Save us?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Thou That Know'st for Whom I Mourn
THOU that know'st for whom I mourn,
And why these tears appear,
That keep'st account till he return
Of all his dust left here ;
As easily Thou might'st prevent,
As now produce, these tears,
And add unto that day he went
A fair supply of years.
But 'twas my sin that forc'd Thy hand
To cull this primrose out,
That by Thy early choice forewarn'd
My soul might look about.
O what a vanity is man !
How like the eye's quick wink
His cottage fails ; whose narrow span
Begins even at the brink !
Nine months thy hands are fashioning us,
And many years—alas !—
Ere we can lisp, or ought discuss
Concerning Thee, must pass ;
Yet have I known Thy slightest things,
A feather, or a shell,
A stick, or rod, which some chance brings
The best of us excel ;
Yea, I have known these shreds outlast
A fair-compacted frame,
And for one twenty we have past
Almost outlive our name.
Thus hast Thou plac'd in man's outside
Death to the common eye,
That heaven within him might abide,
And close eternity ;
Hence youth, and folly, man's first shame,
Are put unto the slaughter,
And serious thoughts begin to tame
The wise man's madness, laughter.
Dull, wretched worms ! that would not keep
Within our first fair bed,
But out of Paradise must creep
For ev'ry foot to tread !
Yet had our pilgrimage been free,
And smooth without a thorn,
Pleasures had foil'd eternity,
And tares had chok'd the corn.
Thus by the cross salvation runs ;
Affliction is a mother
Whose painful throes yield many sons,
Each fairer than the other.
A silent tear can pierce Thy throne,
When loud joys want a wing ;
And sweeter airs stream from a groan,
Than any arted string.
Thus, Lord, I see my gain is great,
My loss but little to it ;
Yet something more I must entreat,
And only Thou canst do it.
O let me—like him—know my end !
And be as glad to find it :
And whatsoe'er Thou shalt commend,
Still let Thy servant mind it !
Then make my soul white as his own,
My faith as pure and steady,
And deck me, Lord, with the same crown
Thou hast crown'd him already !
poem by Henry Vaughan
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Oh Vanity
Oh vanity oh vanity
You only like to read
About beauty
Little about pain
Or hateful disdain
Am I so vain
Am I so shallow
To refuse a
Dark place to go
I'll lend a hand
To those in need
I'll give my love
While looking up
Is this not positivity
Not vanity
poem by Harriet James
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Looking East
LITTLE white clouds, why are you flying
Over the sky so blue and cold?
Fair faint hopes, why are you lying
Over my heart like a white cloud's fold?
Slender green leaves, why are you peeping
Out of the ground where the snow yet lies?
Toying west wind, why are you creeping
Like a child's breath across my eyes?
Hope and terror by turns consuming,
Lover and friend put far from me,--
What should I do with the bright spring, coming
Like an angel over the sea?
Over the cruel sea that parted
Me from mine own, and rolls between;--
Out of the woful east, whence darted
Heaven's full quiver of vengeance keen.
Day teaches day, night whispers morning--
'Hundreds are weeping their dead, while thou
Weeping thy living--Rise, be adorning
Thy brows, unwidowed, with smiles.'--But how?
O, had he married me!--unto anguish,
Hardship, sickness, peril, and pain;
That on my breast his head might languish
In lonely jungle or scorching plain;
O, had we stood on some rampart gory,
Till he--ere Horror behind us trod--
Kissed me, and killed me--so, with his glory
My soul went happy and pure to God!
Nay, nay, Heaven pardon me! me, sick-hearted,
Living this long, long life-in-death:
Many there are far wider parted
Who under one roof-tree breathe one breath.
But we that loved--whom one word half broken
Had drawn together close soul to soul
As lip to lip--and it was not spoken,
Nor may be while the world's ages roll.
I sit me down with my tears all frozen:
I drink my cup, be it gall or wine:
For I know, if he lives, I am his chosen--
I know, if he dies, that he is mine.
If love in its silence be greater, stronger
Than million promises, sighs, or tears--
I will wait upon Him a little longer
Who holdeth the balance of our years.
Little white clouds, like angels flying,
Bring the spring with you across the sea--
Loving or losing, living or dying,
Lord, remember, remember me!
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Quick Pick
a gain
of wasted salutation
perhaps a courageous affirmation
of honesty thou, nothing
left than a humble
acceptance that all is just a vanity
to blink
come dear heart
you'll be the guest that waited
as you dine in my table
that captures the grace
of every blessing, find and
look something that pleases in your
eyes, even the darkness sees no
light to close
my soul keeps
on moving for an easy
pick, yet! I lay down the power
searching the truth is lying in the
dunes of wish a denial that
ooze me to settle down in the most
convenient seat that
hold me in your wonderful arm,
leading my soul to come
closer in your sight,
as I say thank you my quick redemption
I repose forever my dear.
poem by Antonio Liao
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Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of little children
William Makepeace Thackeray in Vanity Fair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fool for Fools' go[l]d ploughs
the field of vanity fair
to cruel mirage hous
haiku by Jonathan Robin (19 June 2004)
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Where Does A Poem Begin?
WHAT DOES A POEM MEAN?
Where does a poem begin
And where does a life end
And what does it all mean?
The life the poem who and what we are
The stars will go on until they burn out and die in a time we will never see
The earth itself will go until it dies in the heat given by a dying sun.
All things lovely and beautiful
Grass and trees and lilacs and cities of love and people who care for each other
All good and great things-
Greater poems by far than this will forever not be
And music that makes the heart and mind more sublime.
All is vanity of vanity says the preacher.
Though not because it all returns to what it was
And repeats without end what it will continue to be
But because once and only once
Even our Universe will die.
Oh time oh life oh love oh peace
Oh words that try to mean
And cannot stay more than our own small instant of hearing and fearing
Death is our name
Death death death.
God forgive me
Only You can save us.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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