Witchcraft by a Picture
I FIX mine eye on thine, and there
Pity my picture burning in thine eye;
My picture drown'd in a transparent tear,
When I look lower I espy;
Hadst thou the wicked skill
By pictures made and marr'd, to kill,
How many ways mightst thou perform thy will?
But now I've drunk thy sweet salt tears,
And though thou pour more, I'll depart;
My picture vanished, vanish all fears
That I can be endamaged by that art;
Though thou retain of me
One picture more, yet that will be,
Being in thine own heart, from all malice free.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
Sonnet LII: What? Dost Thou Mean
What? Dost thou mean to cheat me of my heart?
To take all mine and give me none again?
Or have thine eyes such magic or that art
That what they get they ever do retain?
Play not the tyrant, but take some remorse;
Rebate thy spleen, if but for pity's sake;
Or, cruel, if thou canst not, let us 'scourse,
And, for one piece of thine, my whole heart take.
But what of pity do I speak to thee,
Whose breast is proof against complaint or prayer?
Or can I think what my reward shall be
From that proud beauty, which was my betrayer?
What talk I of a heart, when thou hast none?
Or, if thou hast, it is a flinty one.
poem by Michael Drayton
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Sonnet 142: Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving,
O, but with mine, compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving,
Or if it do, not from those lips of thine
That have profaned their scarlet ornaments
And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robbed others' beds' revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee as thou lov'st those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee.
Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
By self-example mayst thou be denied!
poem by William Shakespeare
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To-- Yet look on me
Yet look on me -- take not thine eyes away,
Which feed upon the love within mine own,
Which is indeed but the reflected ray
Of thine own beauty from my spirit thrown.
Yet speak to me -- thy voice is as the tone
Of my heart’s echo, and I think I hear
That thou yet lovest me; yet thou alone
Like one before a mirror, without care
Of aught but thine own features, imaged there;
And yet I wear out life in watching thee;
A toil so sweet at times, and thou indeed
Art kind when I am sick, and pity me.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Clasping of Hands
LORD, Thou art mine, and I am Thine,
If mine I am; and Thine much more
Then I or ought or can be mine.
Yet to be Thine doth me restore,
So that again I now am mine,
And with advantage mine the more,
Since this being mine brings with it Thine,
And Thou with me dost Thee restore:
If I without Thee would be mine,
I neither should be mine nor Thine.
Lord, I am Thine, and Thou art mine;
So mine Thou art, that something more
I may presume Thee mine then Thine,
For Thou didst suffer to restore
Not Thee, but me, and to be mine:
And with advantage mine the more,
Since Thou in death wast none of Thine,
Yet then as mine didst me restore:
O, be mine still; still make me Thine;
Or rather make no Thine and Mine.
poem by George Herbert
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Sonnet 40: Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all
Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love, thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest;
But yet be blamed, if thou thy self deceivest
By wilful taste of what thy self refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
And yet love knows it is a greater grief
To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Sonnet: Take Me, O Master, Into Thine Vineyard
0 Master, take me into Thine vineyard;
Thou give me any duty as Thou please;
And when I've finish'd show me Thine backyard;
Enroll me vassal, when free of disease.
0 Master fair, Thou give me a job soon;
Thou may pay me anything in return;
To be Thine servant, humblest is a boon;
For then, I can't ever go to Hell and burn.
0 Master kind, any job will suffice;
My precious time, I've wasted for quite long;
Thou give me food, enough to do work nice;
Thou give me work before ceases Thine song.
How lucky 'tis to be in Thine vineyard!
A servant's lucky more in Thine backyard.
poem by John Celes
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Though Pot I am, I am Thine Pot!
Potter, Potter, making clay-pot!
Did you make me misshap’n somewhat?
Was it perhaps done on purpose?
Should I blame myself for my cross?
Perhaps, I was untimely born,
Or made in haste, Thine shop adorn!
May be Thine mood was not that good,
When Thou made me out of mere clod!
Perhaps, the mix was rather wrong,
Or else Thou sang a sadder song!
Perhaps, water salty was used;
And so I crack’d a bit when baked!
May be, I wasn’t well baked at all;
Or baked too much: suff’red a fall!
Perhaps, the hearth was not quite hot;
Perhaps, it was my own dear fault.
How do I serve Thee still? I muse;
Though handicapped, could Thou me use?
Could Thou recast my misshap’n form,
So that I can most well perform?
Could thou alter my bizarre look,
Before people think I’m a spook?
Or will I be trampled by men,
Even before I say, ‘Amen! ’
Whatev’r my fate turns out to be,
Let me serve Thee most happily!
May be, I can’t be thine pot sought;
Though pot I am, I am Thine pot!
Though pot I am, I am Thine pot!
poem by John Celes
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The Captive Dove
Poor restless dove, I pity thee;
And when I hear thy plaintive moan,
I mourn for thy captivity,
And in thy woes forget mine own.
To see thee stand prepared to fly,
And flap those useless wings of thine,
And gaze into the distant sky,
Would melt a harder heart than mine.
In vain in vain! Thou canst not rise:
Thy prison roof confines thee there;
Its slender wires delude thine eyes,
And quench thy longings with despair.
Oh, thou wert made to wander free
In sunny mead and shady grove,
And, far beyond the rolling sea,
In distant climes, at will to rove!
Yet, hadst thou but one gentle mate
Thy little drooping heart to cheer,
And share with thee thy captive state,
Thou couldst be happy even there.
Yes, even there, if, listening by,
One faithful dear companion stood,
While gazing on her full bright eye,
Thou mightst forget thy native wood.
But thou, poor solitary dove,
Must make, unheard, thy joyless moan;
The heart, that Nature formed to love,
Must pine, neglected, and alone.
poem by Anne Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
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To An Inconstant Mistress
I loved thee once, I'll love no more,
Thine be the grief as is the blame,
Thou art not what thou wast before,
What reason I should be the same?
He that can love unloved again
Hath better store of love than brain;
God send me love my debts to pay,
While unthrifts fool their love away.
Nothing could have my love o'erthrown,
If thou hadst still continued mine;
Nay, if thou hadst remained thine own,
I might perchance have yet been thine.
But thou thy freedom did recall,
That it thou might elsewhere enthrall,
And then how could I but disdain
A captive's captive to remain?
When new desires had conquered thee,
And changed the object of thy will,
It had been lethargy in me,
Not constancy, to love thee still;
Yea, it had been a sin to go
And prostitute affection so,
Since we are taught no prayers to say
To such as must to others pray.
Yet do thou glory in thy choice,
Thy choice of his good fortune boast;
I'll neither grieve, nor yet rejoice
To see him gain what I have lost.
The height of my disdain shall be
To laugh at him, to blush for thee;
To love thee still, but go no more
A-begging at a beggar's door.
poem by Sir Robert Aytoun
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Sonnet: Man, Thou Must Atone Now
Harass me not, Brother, harass me not;
Thou hast made blunder again, once again;
To have redressed my grievances, Thou ought,
Alas! Thou caused my heart to break with pain.
May be, Thou couldst create my file thine way;
Each person's file is maintained by One Boss;
None can prevent Truth's final Win some day;
Thine paper-work will soon be proved as farce.
Please rectify thine past mistakes somehow,
Lest God's punishment should descend on Thee;
Atone thine sin in action now and Now;
Man's cleverness can fai1 him miserably.
Why pick on me when I had done no wrong?
Canst Thou pay damages for suff 'rings long?
poem by John Celes
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Solitary Strength
'What Lord, is wanted of me in this time
Of much introspection into sentiment, sublime! ?
Need I simply forget all that for which I yearn,
Or might I bide yet, in hopes that all I may discern-
Even in the midst of my most lofty aspiration-
What may one day meet a most prohetic realization! ? '
To which He made reply: 'I test thine faith in many ways;
Though thou art without much, lo these many days,
Thou art not alone, nor art others, contrariwise;
This time strengthens thee, in ways thou may ne'er realize-
Much hath been garnered, but that time shalt show-
Though others may not gather same, thou shalt know;
Thine lamentation, though great, readies thee, as it must-
In Mine Own Omniscient Benevolence, thou must emplace all thine trust! '
-Maurice Harris,23 January 2011
poem by Maurice Harris
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Sonnet XIV on A Noble Child, Early Dead
Farewell to thee, thou swift--departed Stranger,
Weary with little stay,--farewell to thee!
There hung a picture in thy nursery
Of the God--boy, who slumbered in the manger,--
And oft I feared, lest Thou should'st meet the danger,
For pride of wealth or lusted empiry,
Of losing that which I so loved to see,
Thy likeness to that picture, lovely Stranger.
Thou hast gone back all pure,--thy every feature
Faithful to what the limner's sacred eye
Pourtrayed the Son of God; most blessed creature!
Thy brow unknit by passion, pain, or scorn,
Thine is the special privilege to have borne
The Cross of Love without the Agony.
poem by Richard Monckton Milnes Houghton
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The Gifts of God
THE LIGHT that fills thy house at morn,
Thou canst not for thyself retain;
But all who with thee here are born,
It bids to share an equal gain.
The wind that blows thy ship along,
Her swelling sails cannot confine;
Alike to all the gales belong,
Nor canst thou claim a breath as thine.
The earth, the green out-spreading earth,
Why hast thou fenced it off from me?
Hadst thou than I a nobler birth,
Who callest thine a gift so free?
The wave, the blue encircling wave,
No chains can bind, no fetters hold;
Its thunders tell of Him who gave
What none can ever buy for gold.
poem by Jones Very
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Sans Merci
Wouldst thou then I should depart.
A hollow man without a heart,
a victim of thy cruelty.
Hast thou non, e no trace of pity.
They beauty doth ensnare young men.
Thou toyest with them heartlessly
The bored, thou bidst them forth again.
A maiden lacking all pity.
Thy turn will come and thou wilt lose
thy heart in turn to some young man,
thy beauty’s lure he will refuse.
Thou art surprised because he can
Hoist upon thine own petard
methinks it is thy just reward
(poeticpiers/31-May-07)
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Sonnet- Jesus, the Son of God
One Word of Thine can heal my wounded heart;
One look divine can work wonders from start;
One Word of Thine can change water to wine;
One touch of Thine can make a Leper fine.
Authority in Thine word's what we find;
Divinity, none can be than Thy mind;
Psychology of man, Thou know'st so well,
Who can with the Son of God, argue, tell.
What anger great, Thou hast shown in some place!
Thine advice can soothe any angry face;
Thine parables drive home morals so great;
Sin's the thing, not the sinner, Thou did hate.
What love Thou had shown to the poor brethren?
And kindness too to the atheist, heathen.
poem by John Celes
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To Mine Heart's Captor
To mine heart's captor: thou knowest who for art thou!
With its absquatulation complete, what art thine plans now?
Art thine intentions altruistic and pure-
May thine jollity, these intentions, ensure?
Might thine heart be exalted in consort with mine?
If thee were to seek its consult, how would it opine?
Love knows not impediments, it lasts and grows forever;
Come with me, my beloved, we shall live this truth, together!
Have not thee thought of me, fondly, in mine absence?
The gift of our love is proof of His Divine Benevolence!
Walk this journey called life with me by thine side;
Mine unceasing love shall always, and e'er, be supplied-
For so long as thou art enamored by this offer;
First though, you need remove thine heart from its coffer!
-Maurice Harris,16 May 2011
poem by Maurice Harris
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Blessed Be Thy Name Forever
Blessed be thy name for ever,
Thou of life the guard and giver!
Thou canst guard thy creatures sleeping,
Heal the heart long broke with weeping.
Thou who slumbered not, nor sleepest!
Blest are they Thou kindly keepest:
Thine the flaming sphere of light!
Thine the darkness of the night!
Thine the morning and the even,
God of angels, God of heaven!
God of life that fadeth never!
Glory to thy name for ever!
poem by James Hogg
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A Peculiar Ideal
What thou thinkest, belongs to all; what thou feelest, is thine only.
Wouldst thou make him thine own, feel thou the God whom thou thinkest!
poem by Friedrich Schiller
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Give to Love
Love came knocking on thy door
With you in sight to love and adore
But thine did give
All that thou have and
need to live?
You gave thine lips for love to speak
You gave thine heart for love's heart's weak
You gave thine face, to love to trace
its tears across thee a sorrowful place
thou give to thy loss when it comes to love!
You gave thine soul to love's control
You gave love thy hand to hold
You gave thy feet for love to kiss
You gave thy happiness to love's bliss
You gave thy breast for love to touch
You gave thine body for love to clutch.
But what did love give thee?
Love took and took and left thee with nothing!
With nothing now you are at peace, thou art free!
This is what love did to me!
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Quintessential Compeer
I know not, what the future may hold-
Yet, of mine ardor, thou may be assured;
Mine everlasting affinity, thine charms have cajoled;
I offer thee mine heart, hitherto e'er-coffered!
Thou art the counterpoint to mine soul-
Of this verity, I have not, the least doubt;
Thine grace, recompense for what circumstance stole-
Thou art a religion, to which I am most devout!
Our consort was fated, by God divined,
Thou art the quintessential compeer I knew He would find-
The apparition of countless aspiration,
The answer to mine most lofty mentation;
All offered me, is offered contrariwise, to thee-
Thine retort to same, I hope not, a surprise to me!
Maurice Harris,12 May 2011
poem by Maurice Harris
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