Sonnet XVII
THe glorious portraict of that Angels face,
Made to amaze weake mens confused skil:
and this worlds worthlesse glory to embase,
what pen, what pencill can expresse her fill?
For though he colours could deuize at will,
and eke his learned hand at pleasure guide:
least trembling it his wormanship should spill,
yet many wondrous things there are beside.
The sweet eye-glaunces, that like arrowes glide,
the charming smiles, that rob sence from the hart:
the louely pleasance and the lofty pride,
cannot expressed be by any art.
A greater craftesmans hand thereto doth neede,
that can expresse the life of things indeed.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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My Sweet Bride
Come walk with me my sweet bride,
If need be along life's tempest side.
Through howling storms and fury's edge,
Against it's might I would be your strong hedge.
Come walk with me my sweet bride.
Through meadows far to beautiful to hide.
Where nature blankets every ripple and hill,
Will the glorious golden daffodil.
Come walk with me my sweet bride.
Hand in hand through life with pride.
You with the man of your heart.
And me with you, my work of art.
Come walk with me my sweet bride.
Where life's sand storms collide.
Across deserts where life dare not go.
With you in hand, this becomes gentle snow.
Come walk with me my sweet bride,
With love now matured we share a hearth-side.
With my strong arm around your slim waist.
We'll hold each other steady in a love chaste.
R. K. Hart 15/11/12
In Laudem Authoris.
Like to the weake estate of a poore friend,
To whom sweet fortune hath bene euer slow,
VVhich dayly doth that happy howre attend,
VVhen his poore state may his affection shew:
So fares my loue, not able as the rest,
To chaunt thy prayses in a lofty vayne,
Yet my poore Muse doth vow to doe her best,
And wanting wings, shee'le tread an humble strayne.
I thought at first her homely steps to rayse,
And for some blazing Epithites to looke,
But then I fear'd, that by such wondrous prayse,
Some men would grow suspicious of thy booke:
For hee that doth thy due deserts reherse,
Depriues that glory from thy worthy verse.
poem by Francis Beaumont
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Sonnet LVII
SWeet warriour when shall I haue peace with you?
High time it is, this warre now ended were:
which I no lenger can endure to sue,
ne your incessant battry more to beare:
So weake my powres, so sore my wounds appeare,
that wonder is how I should liue a iot,
seeing my hart through launched euery where
with thousand arrowes, which your eies haue shot:
Yet shoot ye sharpely still, and spare me not,
but glory thinke to make these cruel stoures,
ye cruell one, what glory can be got,
in slaying him that would liue gladly yours?
Make peace therefore, and graunt me timely grace.
that al my wounds will heale in little space.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Thule, the Period of Cosmography
Thule, the period of cosmography,
Doth vaunt of Hecla, whose sulphureous fire
Doth melt the frozen clime and thaw the sky;
Trinacrian Etna's flames ascend not higher:
These things seem wondrous, yet more wondrous I,
Whose heart with fear doth freeze, with love doth fry.
The Andalusian merchant, that returns
Laden with cochineal and china dishes,
Reports in Spain how strangely Fogo burns
Amidst an ocean full of flying fishes:
These things seem wondrous, yet more wondrous I,
Whose heart with fear doth freeze, with love doth fry.
poem by Thomas Weelkes
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My Pride
My pride is my soul
My soul immortal
Break this body
I’ll not ask for mercy
Even undone
I kneel to no one
Me
The only
and one
Make me cry?
I’d rather Die
Nothing is worth begging for
Nothing
Not money
Not fame
Not hunger
Not love
Not life
Nothing
I will not bow
I will no break
Everything you throw
I’ll take
In my book
If you have no pride
You’re not worth knowing!
My pride
My savior
Makes me a god of thunder
The worlds most extraordinary lover
The deepest thinker
Most profound feeler
No one is my match
No one is my equal
I pity those who are not me
They will never know what it’s like
To take life in
With pure greed
Be you mighty
Or meek
Despair and envy me
Look unto me and dream
Of what you could be
For my pride is there
To guide me
To remind me
There is no one greater in this world
Than me
I am almighty
Let the humble bow
I’ll not
When I meet my maker
I will stand before him
And look at his glory
And take my pride
And say ‘look upon it! ’
‘Isn’t it a worthy trophy? ’
‘Is love of my accomplishments
My passing of time
My triumphs
My errors
My glory
Mine crime? ’
Is pride truly the greatest sin?
Did it not save me countless times.
Kept me standing where others fell?
Made decisions my very own?
The essence of individuality
In Escaping conformity?
If asked to part
I’ll say nay
‘Saying but you made me this way! ’
And go my own way
Not entering another’s HIS domain
I’ll have my pride as companion
Always by my side
No one will get the better of me
Not while my pride holds me
For am I not unlike God
Made in his own image?
Sonnet XXI
WAs it the worke of nature or of Art?
which tempred so the feature of her face:
that pride and meeknesse mixt by equall part,
doe both appeare t'adorne her beauties grace.
For with mild pleasance, which doth pride displace,
she to her loues doth lookers eyes allure:
& with sterne countenance back again doth chace
their looser lookes that stir vp lustes impure,
With such strange termes her eyes she doth inure,
that with one looke she doth my life dismay:
and with another doth it streight recure,
her smile me drawes, her frowne me driues away.
Thus doth she traine and teach me with her lookes,
such art of eyes I neuer read in bookes.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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As spring the winter doth succeed
May 13, 1657.
As spring the winter doth succeed,
And leaues the naked Trees doe dresse,
The earth all black is cloth'd in green;
At svn-shine each their joy expresse.
My Svns returned with healing wings.
My Soul and Body doth rejoice;
My heart exvlts, and praises sings
To him that heard my wailing Voice.
My winters past, my stormes are gone,
And former clowdes seem now all fled;
But, if they mvst eclipse again,
I'le rvn where I was succoured.
I haue a shelter from the storm,
A shadow from the fainting heat;
I haue accesse vnto his Throne,
Who is a God so wondrous great.
O hast thou made my Pilgrimage
Thvs pleasant, fair, and good;
Bless'd me in Youth and elder Age,
My Baca made a springing flood?
I studiovs am what I shall doe,
To show my Duty with delight;
All I can giue is but thine own,
And at the most a simple mite.
poem by Anne Bradstreet
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Take Your Hand
Take Your Hand"
Hey
I feel like I just blow on up
Anytime I could just lose control, caught up
In your lovin' everytime I feel your touch
Second thoughts more doubts started buildin' up
You're everything I wanted
Before I knew just what I wanted
And hey, hey
You're killin' me on the inside
And you're the only one I want
I can't deny
Don't know what to do
What to say
I'm not sure what to tell you
Confused, which way do I
Take your hand or let go (do I)
Take your hand or let it go (I can't)
Take this feelin' much more (do I)
Take your hand or let go (go)
Don't know what to do
What to say
I'm not sure what to tell you
Confused, which way do I go
Hey
I feel like I just blow on up
Everytime I feel your love
I get so caught up
It's your kissin', your touch
It's just everything
But I'm feelin' like I wanna just run away
I'm here to tell you what I want
But you're everything I want
And hey, hey
It's killin' me on the inside
Cuz you're all I ever wanted
So I can't deny
Don't know what to do
What to say
I'm not sure what to tell you
Confused, which way do I
Take your hand or let go (do I)
Take your hand or let it go (I can't)
Take this feelin' much more (do I)
Take your hand or let go (go)
Don't know what to do
What to say
I'm not sure what to tell you
Confused, which way do I go
Somebody tell me
Is it that I'm so hung I can't say
Or is it my life
So young, careless ways
And in your eyes
So much love you wanna give
But the more I hold you in my arms
The pressure starts to build (build)
Build it up (build, build, build)
Don't know what to do
What to say
I'm not sure what to tell you
Confused, which way do I
Take your hand or let go (do I)
Take your hand or let it go (I can't)
Take this feelin much more (do I)
Take your hand or let go (go)
Dont know what to do
What to say
I'm not sure what to tell you
Confused, which way do I
Take your hand or let go
Take your hand or let it go
Take your hand or let go
Take your hand or let it go
Take your hand or let go
Take your hand or let it go
Take your hand or let go
Take your hand or let it go
Take your hand or let go
Take your hand or let go
song performed by by Usher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet XVI
ONe day as I vnwarily did gaze
on those fayre eyes my loues immortall light:
the whiles my stonisht hart stood in amaze,
through sweet illusion of her lookes delight.
I mote perceiue how in her glauncing sight,
legions of loues with little wings did fly:
darting their deadly arrowes fyry bright
at euery rash beholder passing by.
One of those archers closely I did spy,
ayming his arrow at my very hart:
when suddenly with twincle of her eye,
the Damzell broke his misintended dart.
Had she not so doon, sure I had bene slayne,
yet as it was, I hardly scap't with paine.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Sonnet VII
Fayre eyes, the myrrour of my mazed hart,
what wondrous vertue is contaynd in you
the which both lyfe and death forth fro[m] you dart
into the obiect of your mighty view?
For when ye mildly looke with louely hew,
then is my soule with life and loue inspired:
but when ye lowre, or looke on me askew
then doe I die, as one with lightning fyred.
But since that lyfe is more then death desyred,
looke euer louely, as becomes you best,
that your bright beams of my weak eies admyred,
may kindle liuing fire within my brest.
Such life should be the honor of your light,
such death the sad ensample of your might.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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SOnnet LXXIII
BEing my selfe captyued here in care,
My hart, whom none with seruile bands can tye:
but the fayre tresses of your golden hayre,
breaking his prison forth to you doth fly.
Lyke as a byrd that in ones hand doth spy
desired food, to it doth make his flight:
euen so my hart, that wont on your fayre eye
to feed his fill, flyes backe vnto your sight.
Doe you him take, and in your bosome bright,
gently encage, that he may be your thrall:
perhaps he there may learne with rare delight,
to sing your name and prayses ouer all.
That it hereafter may you not repent,
him lodging in your bosome to haue lent.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Poem 8
HArke how the Minstrels gin to shrill aloud,
Their merry Musick that resounds from far,
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling Croud,
That well agree withouten breach or iar.
But most of all the Damzels doe delite,
When they their tymbrels smyte,
And thereunto doe daunce and carrol sweet,
That all the sences they doe rauish quite,
The whyles the boyes run vp and downe the street,
Crying aloud with strong confused noyce,
As if it were one voyce.
Hymen io Hymen, Hymen they do shout,
That euen to the heauens theyr shouting shrill
Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill,
To which the people standing all about,
As in approuance doe thereto applaud
And loud aduance her laud,
And euermore they Hymen Hymen sing,
that al the woods them answer and theyr eccho ring.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Preface to God's Determinations Touching His Elect
Infinity, when all things it beheld
In Nothing, and of Nothing all did build,
Upon what base was fixed the lath wherein
He turned this globe and rigalled it so trim?
Who blew the bellows of His furnace vast?
Or held the mold wherein the world was cast?
Who laid its cornerstone? Or whose command?
Where stand the pillars upon which it stands?
Who laced and filleted the earth so fine,
With rivers like green ribbons smaragdine?
Who made the seas its selvedge and it locks
Like a quilt ball within a silver box?
Who spread its canopy? Or curtains spun?
Who in this bowling alley bowled the sun?
Who made it always when it rises set,
To go at once both down, and up to get?
Who the curtain rods made for this tapestry?
Who hung the twinkling lanterns in the sky?
Who? Who did this? Or who is He? Why, know
It's only Might Almighty this did do.
His hand hath made this noble work which stands,
His glorious handiwork not made by hands.
Who spake all things from nothing; and with ease.
Can speak all things to nothing, if He please.
Whose little finger at His pleasure can
Out mete ten thousand worlds with half a span:
Whose Might Almighty can by half a looks
Root up the rocks and rock the hills by the roots.
Can take this mighty world up in His hand,
And shake it like a squitchen or a wand.
Whose single frown will make the heavens shake
Like as an aspen-leaf the wind makes quake.
Oh, what a might is this Whose single frown
Doth shake the world as it would shake it down?
Which All on Nothing fet, from Nothing, All:
Hath All on Nothing set, lts Nothing fall.
Gave All to nothing-man indeed, whereby
Through nothing-man all might him glorify.
In Nothing then embossed the brightest gem
More precious than all preciousness in them.
But nothing-man did throw down all by sin:
And darkened that lightsome gem in him.
That now his brightest diamond is grown
Darker by far than any coal-pit stone.
poem by Edward Taylor
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The Cartomancer
Face to face with your destiny, hand
To hand with your silence
The cartomancer turn up your life, the
Weak wall of your secrets
No lies, no question ...running free the
Spell!
The cartomancer charming the air
Each card shows the way!
Sweet sin of your pleasure, flies
Beyond your fear
The cartomancer, the bridge of the
Devil, play in front your eyes!
Bleed your wound, creeping your
Path, each card shows the way!
The cartomancer ...women or men?
Are the old same demon!
Now! your fear is gone
Now! your life is changed
Tell me cartomancer about ...DEATH!!!
song performed by by Undercroft
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Licia Sonnets 25
Seven are the lights that wander in the skies,
And at these seven, I wonder in my love.
So see the moon, how pale she doth arise,
Standing amazed, as though she durst not move;
So is my sweet much paler than the snow,
Constant her looks, these looks that cannot change.
Mercury the next, a god sweet-tongued we know,
But her sweet voice doth wonders speak more strange.
The rising Sun doth boast him of his pride,
And yet my love is far more fair than he.
The warlike Mars can wieldless weapons guide,
But yet that god is far more weak than she.
The lovely Venus seemeth to be fair,
But at her best my love is far more bright.
Saturn for age with groans doth dim the air,
Whereas my love with smiles doth give it light.
Gaze at her brows, where heaven ingrafted is;
Then sigh, and swear, there is no heaven but this
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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Sonnet LXV
THe doubt which ye misdeeme, fayre loue, is vaine
That fondly feare to loose your liberty,
when loosing one, two liberties ye gayne,
and make him bond that bondage earst dyd fly.
Sweet be the bands, the which true loue doth tye,
without constraynt or dread of any ill:
the gentle birde feeles no captiuity
within her cage, but singes and feeds her fill.
There pride dare not approch, nor discord spill
the league twixt them, that loyal loue hath bound:
but simple truth and mutuall good will,
seekes with sweet peace to salue each others wou[n]d
There fayth doth fearlesse dwell in brasen towre,
and spotlesse pleasure builds her sacred bowre.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Upon Wedlock, And Death Of Children
A Curious Knot God made in Paradise,
And drew it out inamled neatly Fresh.
It was the True-Love Knot, more sweet than spice
And set with all the flowres of Graces dress.
Its Weddens Knot, that ne’re can be unti’de.
No Alexanders Sword can it divide.
The slips here planted, gay and glorious grow:
Unless an Hellish breath do sindge their Plumes.
Here Primrose, Cowslips, Roses, Lilies blow
With Violets and Pinkes that voide perfumes.
Whose beautious leaves ore laid with Hony Dew.
And Chanting birds Cherp out sweet Musick true.
When in this Knot I planted was, my Stock
Soon knotted, and a manly flower out brake.
And after it my branch again did knot
Brought out another Flowre its sweet breath’d mate.
One knot gave one tother the tothers place.
Whence Checkling smiles fought in each others face.
But oh! a glorious hand from glory came
Guarded with Angells, soon did Crop this flowere
Which almost tore the root up of the same
At that unlookt for, Dolesome, darksome houre.
In Pray’re to Christ perfum’de it did ascend,
And Angells bright did it to heaven tend.
But pausing on’t, this sweet perfum’d my thought,
Christ would in Glory have a Flowre, Choice, Prime,
And having Choice, chose this my branch forth brought.
Lord, take’t. I thanke thee, thou takst ought of mine,
It is my pledg in glory, part of mee
Is now in it, Lord, glorifi’de with thee.
But praying ore my branch, my branch did sprout
And bore another manly flower, and gay
And after that another, sweet brake out,
The which the former hand soon got away.
But oh! the tortures, Vomit, screechings, groans,
And six weeks fever would pierce hearts like stones.
Griefe o’re doth flow: and nature fault would finde
Were not thy Will, my Spell, Charm, Joy, and Gem:
That as I said, I say, take, Lord, they’re thine.
I piecemeale pass to Glory bright in them.
I joy, may I sweet Flowers for Glory breed,
Whether thou getst them green, or lets them seed.
poem by Edward Taylor
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Back On My Feet
How many days will the wet weather last?
I want know will the clouds
When they roll back
Reveal a man in an old mac
Living on a park bench
Sitting on his own?
Cut the rain as it runs down the glass
Eventually through the lightning and thunder
We see a man going under
This is how it happens
This is what he said
I dont need love
Though temptation is sweet
Give me your hand
til Im back on me feet
Youre always telling me about my misery
Ive seen things you will never see
Dont pity me
Focus in on the breath of a man
Who takes a brown paper bag
From his knapsack
Between his whispers and wise cracks
Hes looking for permission
Screaming at the sky
I dont need love
Though temptation is sweet
Give me your hand
til Im back on me feet
Youre always telling me about my misery
Ive seen things you will never see
Dont pity me
Ill be right again
Be upright without you
Ill stand up again
Kick up a fuss again too
Cut back again to a girl walking by
Until the feet that are all shoes and no socks
Climb an invisible soap box
Laughing at the traffic
Shouting at the world
I dont need love
Though temptation is sweet
Give me your hand
til Im back on me feet
Youre always telling me about my misery
Ive seen things you will never see
Dont pity me
Ill stand up again
Kick up a fuss again too
Ill be right again
Be upright without you
We see a life through the eyes of a man
As he live and he dies
By a simple tattoo
Ill be back again
When I land on my feet
Ill stand up again
Kick up a fuss again, wouldnt you
Well there you go, though we tried hard to know him
Its there on his face
Hes a case where theres clearly no hope
Give me your hand again
til I land again
His face starts to fade
As we pull down the shade
And the picture we made
Is in glorious cinemascope
Ill be back...
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet LXXII
OFt when my spirit doth spred her bolder winges,
In mind to mount vp to the purest sky:
it down is weighd with thoght of earthly things:
and clogd with burden of mortality,
Where when that souerayne beauty it doth spy,
resembling heauens glory in her light:
drawne with sweet pleasures bayt, it back doth fly,
and vnto heauen forgets her former flight.
There my fraile fancy fed with full delight,
doth bath in blisse and mantleth most at ease:
ne thinks of other heauen, but how it might
her harts desire with most contentment please,
Hart need not with none other happinesse,
but here on earth to haue such heuens blisse.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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She Gave Her Angels
And now Id like 2 turn your heart 2 a tale of sheer delight
A song of adulation, love and fear
No one loved him better, no one better sacrificed
She gave her angels that summer night
Fate as she designed it took her from her man
Destiny and love dont always go hand in hand (hand in hand)
As the world lay waiting like an embryo in a womb
She gave her angels that night in june (she gave her angels)
She gave her angels 2 a man because her man had none
2 watch over him till she returned - her man, her lover, her son
Her father 4 all these things he meant 2 her, she felt it right
She gave her angels that summer night {x2}
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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