Poem 91
I Saw in secret to my Dame,
How little Cupid humbly came:
and sayd to her All hayle my mother.
But when he saw me laugh, for shame:
His face with bashfull blood did flame,
not knowing Venus from the other,
Then neuer blush Cupid (quoth I)
for many haue err'd in this beauty.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Related quotes
Would You Like Orange Juice With That?
Flies ZOOM across the room,
Then with one sneaky snap,
The flies become breakfast
For the Venus flytrap!
YO! The Venus flytrap!
YO! The Venus flytrap!
Another fly must die
And flap its final flap,
Blood and guts for breakfast
For the Venus flytrap!
YO! The Venus flytrap!
YO! The Venus flytrap!
Eats a piece of Fly-Pie
And then he takes a nap!
A nap after breakfast
For the Venus flytrap!
Snappin’ and clappin’
With a ZING and a ZAP!
Flappin’ and nappin’
And yappin’ as we tap
a-rap-rap-rappin’...
YO! The Venus flytrap!
poem by ToddMichael St. Pierre
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The Marriage of Edward Herbert Esquire, and Mrs. Elizabeth Herbert
CUPID one day ask'd his Mother,
When she meant that he shou'd Wed?
You're too Young, my Boy, she said:
Nor has Nature made another
Fit to match with Cupid's Bed.
Cupid then her Sight directed
To a lately Wedded Pair;
Where Himself the Match effected;
They as Youthful, they as Fair.
Having by Example carry'd
This first Point in the Dispute;
WORSELEY next he said's not Marry'd:
Her's with Cupid's Charms may suit
poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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Not Wanting To Forget
The Modigliani print was on the wall
By the front door. Who’s she? Bridshaw’s
Dame asked, pointing at the print.
It’s a painting by Modigliani, Bridshaw said.
Is he a friend of yours? The dame asked.
Bridshaw pulled a face and said, No, he’s
Dead now. Shame, she replied, stroking
The print, her finger tracing the woman’s
Outline, her tongue hanging out of the side
Of her mouth in concentration. She’s a bit
On the thin side, the dame said, and I don’t
Like the black coat she’s wearing, like some
Darn widow. Bridshaw wanted to get the dame
In bed for sex; the Modigliani print was no
Big deal, he’d bought it in some art shop on
The high street from the guy with the Boston
Tones. Shame he’s dead, the dame said, he
Could have painted me; I would have made
A good model, more meat on me than that
Woman in black, thin as a pole. Bridshaw
Nodded his head, Sure, sure, but you’re too
Late, the guy’s dead, now can we move on,
Get a drink, hit the bed, have sex, and then
A cigarette. Sure, the dame said, moving away
From the Modigliani print, taking the image
Of the woman with her, not wanting to forget.
poem by Terry Collett
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Fan The Fire
Maurice white, donald whitehead & wade flemons
**ohh its a shame
Its a shame its a shame
The flame of love is about to die
Somebody fan the fire
The flame of love is about to die
Somebody fan the fire
Love is dyin today
Somebody fan the fire
The flame of love is dyin I say
We gonna fan the fire, come on along
Little children starving in a foreign land,
Talk about it brother
Man afraid to shake his brothers hand
(fan the fire, fan the fire)
Woman in trouble callin but nobody cares
(fan the fire, fan the fire)
People denied the rights that are truly
Theirs
(its a shame)
*i believe I believe
(I believe I believe)
I believe I believe
(I believe I believe)
I believe the flame of love is about to die
(fan the fire, fan the fire)
I believe the flame of love is about to die
The flame of love is about to die
Somebody fan the fire
Flame of love is about to die
Were gonna fan the fire, come on along.
Violence striking down great men of peace
Poverty in the homes and crime in the streets
(fan the fire, fan the fire)
Kind-hearted people turnin to hate
(fan the fire, fan the fire)
Mans about to destroy the human race
(its a shame)
(*repeat)
(its a shame)
(* * repeat)
I believe the flame of love is about to die
(repeat)
song performed by by Earth Wind And Fire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Act like a giant
So you want to be a giant?
Doing big things, going great places
People that are big and small, knowing your name
Being recognize as power figure to almost all,
One who wins and changes the game
As you grow and become notarized a public figure,
What shall remain the same?
As in remaining grounded,
To never face shame
Just humbly remember
For which you came,
As you reach your goals
your life is now changed
poem by Angel A. Lockwood
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Flames
A burnt child loves the flame
Scarred with ugliness, such a shame
But within the fire stayed
Where the little hands lingered and played
The eye shift with the swift moves
Feeling the marred skin and its grooves
An anger that rises within
A hidden secret, a perfect sin
The mother did warn so vigorously
Keeping up the hate perpetually
The child doesn't listen nor care
Knowing fate and that it's so unfair
Burning, flourishing in waking heat
Whom fall to cold eyes in feverish defeat
poem by Chyna Parker
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Please Let Me Please You
(hicks / clarke)
What did you do today
You turned the other way
I tried to kiss you,
But you laughed in my face
Its a thing to do
Knowing that I love you
Dont be to hasty;
The tables will turn
Please, please, please,
Let me please you
Please let me please you
Please let me, louise
Please, please, please,
Let me please you
Please let me please you
Please let me, louise
Why are you different now
Did I hurt you somehow
If so, then tell me,
But dont laugh in my face
If I said something strong,
Ill admit I was wrong
Come on and tell me,
But dont laugh in my face
Chorus
I always treat you right
Why do you wanna fight
Go if you want to,
But dont laugh in my face
If I try kissing you,
Dont make me out a fool
Come and tell me,
But dont laugh in my face
Chorus
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cupid Mistaken
As after noon, one summer's day,
Venus stood bathing in a river;
Cupid a-shooting went that way,
New strung his bow, new fill'd his quiver.
With skill he chose his sharpest dart:
With all his might his bow he drew:
Swift to his beauteous parent's heart
The too well-guided arrow flew.
I faint! I die! the Goddess cry'd:
O cruel, could'st thou find none other,
To wreck thy spleen on? Parricide!
Like Nero, thou hast slain thy mother.
Poor Cupid sobbing scarce could speak;
Indeed, Mamma, I did not know ye:
Alas! how easy my mistake?
I took you for your likeness, Cloe.
poem by Matthew Prior
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When The Fox Dies, His Skin Counts
WE young people in the shade
Sat one sultry day;
Cupid came, and "Dies the Fox"
With us sought to play.
Each one of my friends then sat
By his mistress dear;
Cupid, blowing out the torch,
Said: "The taper's here!"
Then we quickly sent around
The expiring brand;
Each one put it hastily
ln his neighbour's hand.
Dorilis then gave it me,
With a scoffing jest;
Sudden into flame it broke,
By my fingers press'd.
And it singed my eyes and face,
Set my breast on fire;
Then above my head the blaze
Mounted ever higher.
Vain I sought to put it out;
Ever burned the flame;
Stead of dying, soon the Fox
Livelier still became.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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To Make My Father Proud
To make my father proud
To make my mother smile
I need no conquered worlds, a flame
Not set, the paceful style
If I can follow through
Oh, love think wavely me as my tears
Ill find the way to sell my clothes
Avoiding ships a fuss
If I dont come up, number one
Ill stand not well apart
As one for numbered numbers
When knowing in my heart
I dare not to be done
To always do my best
By listening to me, myself
So he can do or else
(of without compromise,
Shall follow the feel of constant care)
In my eleven hour
Ill be a man the way
To face whatever force my way
Prepared that are a shame
To just recall the part of guide
For which I have been named
A man and a womans youngest son
Who are growing still a child
And that will make my father proud
And make my mother smile...
(proud)
song performed by by Michael Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Cypres Springes, Wheras Dame Venus Dwelt
In Cypres springes, wheras dame Venus dwelt,
A well so hote that who so tastes the same,
Were he of stone, as thawed yse shuld melt,
And kindled fynde his brest with secret flame;
Whose moist poison dissolved hath my hate.
This creping fier my cold lymms so oprest
That in the hart that harbred fredom late
Endles dispaire long thraldom hath imprest.
One eke so cold in froson snow is found,
Whose chilling venume of repugnaunt kind
The fervent heat doth quenche of Cupides wound,
And with the spote of change infects the mynd;
Whereof my deer hath tasted to my payne.
My service thus is growne into disdayne.
------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
Complaint of the louer disdained
In Ciprus, springes (whereas dame Venus dwelt)
A well so hote, that whoso tastes the same,
Were he of stone, as thawed yse should melt,
And kindled fynde his brest with fired flame.
Whose moyst poyson dissolued hath my hate.
This creeping fire my colde lims so opprest,
That in the hart that harborde freedome late,
Endlesse despeyre longe thraldome hath imprest.
An other so colde in frozen yse is founde,
Whose chilling venom of repugnant kynde
The feruent heat doth quenche of Cupides wounde:
And with the spot of change infectes the minde:
Whereof my dere hath tasted, to my paine.
My seruice thus is growen into disdaine.
poem by Henry Howard
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Children Of Love
The holy boy
Went from his mother out in the cool of the day
Over the sun-parched fields
And in among the olives shining green and shining grey.
There was no sound,
No smallest voice of any shivering stream.
Poor sinless little boy,
He desired to play and to sing; he could only sigh and dream.
Suddenly came
Running along to him naked, with curly hair,
That rogue of the lovely world,
That other beautiful child whom the virgin Venus bare.
The holy boy
Gazed with those sad blue eyes that all men know.
Impudent Cupid stood
Panting, holding an arrow and pointing his bow.
(Will you not play?
Jesus, run to him, run to him, swift for our joy.
Is he not holy, like you?
Are you afraid of his arrows, O beautiful dreaming boy?)
And now they stand
Watching one another with timid gaze;
Youth has met youth in the wood,
But holiness will not change its melancholy ways.
Cupid at last
Draws his bow and softly lets fly a dart.
Smile for a moment, sad world! -
It has grazed the white skin and drawn blood from the sorrowful heart.
Now, for delight,
Cupid tosses his locks and goes wantonly near;
But the child that was born to the cross
Has let fall on his cheek, for the sadness of life, a compassionate tear.
Marvellous dream!
Cupid has offered his arrows for Jesus to try
He as offered his bow for the game.
But Jesus went weeping away, and left him there wondering why.
poem by Harold Monro
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Unsigned Letter
She got an unsigned letter from her secret someone
And she fell into the mystery
Words were few and specifically vague
Intrinsic intrigue
But it said everything
When it just read come to me
Shes always been that responsible someone
Safe within her simplicity
But all this cloak and dagger is stoking her heart
Stroking her curiosity
Is plain little jane
Gonna risk everything
Is she gonna strike the match
Thatll surely light the flame
Is she carrying a torch for love in vain
Is she gonna break the locks
Take a look inside the box
Knowing that she could release pandoras shame
Welcome to the game
Whats in a name
She must be dreamin as she boards a plane
And flies into her fantasy
A first class ticket to the city of boston
Is all she knows of her destiny
When she touches down
Will her feet hit the ground
Is she gonna strike the match
Thatll surely light the flame
Is she carrying a torch for love in vain
Is the gonna bread the locks
Take a look inside the box
Knowing that she could release pandoras shame
Welcome to the game
Whats in a name
Is our little plain jane
Gonna risk everything
Yeah.
Is she gonna strike the match
Thatll surely light the flame
Is she carrying the torch for love in vain
Is the gonna break the locks
Take a look inside the box
Knowin that she could release pandoras shame
Oh, welcome to the game
Whats in a name
song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Love
If, Cupid, Heaven is your home, you
are the child of Venus, Nectar and
Ambrosia are your food, then why
do you spend days and nights with
me? Why burn me with your flame,
and quench my thirst with tears?
Why destroy me? You are indeed
descended from wild beasts. Are you
worthy of such descent and of
heaven? But I, I am merely
a shadow, why do you torture me?
Ad amorem.
Si coelum patria est puer beatum,
Si vero peperit VENUS benigna,
Si Nectar tibi Massicum ministrat;
Si sancta Ambrosia est cibus petitus,
Quid noctes habitas, diesque mecum?
Quid victum face supplicemque aduris?
Quid longam lachrimis sitim repellis?
Quid nostrae dape pasceris medullae?
O vere rabidum genus faerarum:
O domo stipe patriaque digne:
Jam levis sumus umbra, quid lacessis?
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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Laugh
Words and music by
Philip margo, mitchell margo, henry medress and jay siegel
Evry face that I see is all wrapped up in frowns,
And unfortunately, it kind of gets me down.
Laugh,
cause the music is funny
Yeah, the bass sounds off-beat.
Aint that neat.
Laugh,
When you lose all your money,
Or you cant find your shoes
To cover your feet.
Its not so hard to see exactly what Im after.
Sometimes a tear should fall, but I require giggles and chuckles
Laugh,
When youre keepin a secret
And it seems to be known
By the rest of the world.
Laugh,
When you go to a party,
And you cant tell the boys
From the girls.
Every face that I see is all wrapped up in frowns
And unfortunately, it kind of gets me down.
Laugh,
At the things that are wrong.
If you thinks its this song,
Then laugh.
Then laugh.
Then laugh.
[repeat and fade]
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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O Cupid, Cupid; Get Your Bow!
Arming down along the stream,
Along the sparkling water,
And past the pool where lilies gleam,
There comes the squatter’s daughter.
Her eyes are kind; her lips are warm;
And like a flower her face is;
The habit shows her bonny form
As graceful as a Grace’s.
O I’ll be mad of love, I know;
My head she’ll surely addle;
O Cupid, Cupid; get your bow;
And shoot her from the saddle!
For, like a bird on breezes waft,
She quickly, quickly passes;
O Cupid, Cupid, draw your shaft;
And bring her to the grasses!
O she is worthy game for you;
And there is none to match her.
So, Cupid, send your arrow true;
And I’ll be there to catch her!
poem by Henry Lawson
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Elizabeth Childers
Dust of my dust,
And dust with my dust,
O, child who died as you entered the world,
Dead with my death!
Not knowing Breath, though you tried so hard,
With a heart that beat when you lived with me,
And stopped when you left me for Life.
It is well, my child. For you never traveled
The long, long way that begins with school days,
When little fingers blur under the tears
That fall on the crooked letters.
And the earliest wound, when a little mate
Leaves you alone for another;
And sickness, and the face of Fear by the bed;
The death of a father or mother;
Or shame for them, or poverty;
The maiden sorrow of school days ended;
And eyeless Nature that makes you drink
From the cup of Love, though you know it’s poisoned;
To whom would your flower-face have been lifted?
Botanist, weakling? Cry of what blood to yours?—
Pure or foul, for it makes no matter,
It’s blood that calls to our blood.
And then your children—oh, what might they be?
And what your sorrow? Child! Child!
Death is better than Life!
poem by Edgar Lee Masters from Spoon River Anthology
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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O Germany, Pale Mother!
Let others speak of her shame,
I speak of my own.
O Germany, pale mother!
How soiled you are
As you sit among the peoples.
You flaunt yourself
Among the besmirched.
The poorest of your sons
Lies struck down.
When his hunger was great.
Your other sons
Raised their hands against him.
This is notorious.
With their hands thus raised,
Raised against their brother,
They march insolently around you
And laugh in your face.
This is well known.
In your house
Lies are roared aloud.
But the truth
Must be silent.
Is it so?
Why do the oppressors praise you everywhere,
The oppressed accuse you?
The plundered
Point to you with their fingers, but
The plunderer praises the system
That was invented in your house!
Whereupon everyone sees you
Hiding the hem of your mantle which is bloody
With the blood
Of your best sons.
Hearing the harangues which echo from your house,
men laugh.
But whoever sees you reaches for a knife
As at the approach of a robber.
O Germany, pale mother!
How have your sons arrayed you
That you sit among the peoples
A thing of scorn and fear!
poem by Bertolt Brecht
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Cupid and My Campaspe
Cupid and my Campaspe played
At cards for kisses;
Cupid paid.
He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows,
His mother's doves and team of sparrows,
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lip, the rose
Growing on's cheek (but none knows how),
With these the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple of his chin:
All these did my Campaspe win.
At last he set her both his eyes;
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love! has she done this to thee?
What shall, alas, become of me?
Apelles' Song
Cupid and my Campaspe played
At cards for kisses; Cupid paid:
He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows,
His mother's doves, and team of sparrows;
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lip, the rose
Growing on's cheek (but none knows how);
With these, the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple on his chin;
All these did my Campaspe win:
And last he set her both his eyes -
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love! has she done this to thee?
What shall, alas! become of me?