Miniver Cheevy
Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was ever born,
And he had reasons.
Miniver loved the days of old
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
The vision of the warrior bold
Would set him dancing.
Miniver sighed for what was not,
And dreamed, and rested from his labors;
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,
And Priam's neighbors.
Miniver mourned the ripe renown
That made so many a name so fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
And Art, a vagrant.
Mininver loved the Medici,
Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have sinned incessantly
Could he have been one.
Miniver cursed the commonplace
And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;
He missed the medieval grace
Of iron clothing.
Miniver scorned the gold he sought,
But sore annoyed was he without it;
Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,
And thought about it.
Miniver Cheevy, born too late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed, and called it fate,
And kept on drinking.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Related quotes
Mater Dei
She looked to east, she looked to west,
Her eyes, unfathomable, mild,
That saw both worlds, came home to rest,
Home to her own sweet child.
God's golden head was at her breast.
What need to look o'er land and sea?
What could the winged ships bring to her?
What gold or gems of price might be,
Ivory or miniver,
Since God Himself lay on her knee?
What could th' intense blue heaven keep
To draw her eyes and thoughts so high?
All heaven was where her Boy did leap,
Where her foot quietly
Went rocking the dear God asleep.
The angel folk fared up and down
A Jacob's Ladder hung between
Her quiet chamber and God's Town.
She saw unawed, serene;
Since God Himself played by her gown.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Epiphany: (For Dora, 1918)
She carried frankincense and gold
When the Star guided her,
And in her folded hands so cold
She carried myrrh.
Frankincense for the praise she owed,
Gold for her gift was meet,
But myrrh because so oft her road
Was bitter-sweet.
Lay her tired body in that earth
Was holy to her mind!
But the bird-soul flies in high mirth,
Borne on the wind.
It tosses in the Irish skies
Awhile, so small and white,
Ere it is gone -- swiftly it flies
Into the light.
She has gone in with the Three Kings,
In silk and miniver;
The gold, the frankincense she brings,
The sharp-sweet myrrh.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Guenevere
I was a queen, and I have lost my crown;
A wife, and I have broken all my vows;
A lover, and I ruined him I loved: --
There is no other havoc left to do.
A little month ago I was a queen,
And mothers held their babies up to see
When I came riding out of Camelot.
The women smiled, and all the world smiled too.
And now, what woman's eyes would smile on me?
I still am beautiful, and yet what child
Would think of me as some high, heaven-sent thing,
An angel, clad in gold and miniver?
The world would run from me, and yet am I
No different from the queen they used to love.
If water, flowing silver over stones,
Is forded, and beneath the horses' feet
Grows turbid suddenly, it clears again,
And men will drink it with no thought of harm.
Yet I am branded for a single fault.
I was the flower amid a toiling world,
Where people smiled to see one happy thing,
And they were proud and glad to raise me high;
They only asked that I should be right fair,
A little kind, and gowned wondrously,
And surely it were little praise to me
If I had pleased them well throughout my life.
I was a queen, the daughter of a king.
The crown was never heavy on my head,
It was my right, and was a part of me.
The women thought me proud, the men were kind,
And bowed right gallantly to kiss my hand,
And watched me as I passed them calmly by,
Along the halls I shall not tread again.
What if, to-night, I should revisit them?
The warders at the gates, the kitchen-maids,
The very beggars would stand off from me,
And I, their queen, would climb the stairs alone,
Pass through the banquet-hall, a loathed thing,
And seek my chambers for a hiding-place,
And I should find them but a sepulchre,
The very rushes rotted on the floors,
The fire in ashes on the freezing hearth.
I was a queen, and he who loved me best
Made me a woman for a night and day,
And now I go unqueened forevermore.
A queen should never dream on summer eves,
When hovering spells are heavy in the dusk: --
I think no night was ever quite so still,
So smoothly lit with red along the west,
So deeply hushed with quiet through and through.
And strangely clear, and deeply dyed with light,
The trees stood straight against a paling sky,
With Venus burning lamp-like in the west.
I walked alone amid a thousand flowers,
That drooped their heads and drowsed beneath the dew,
And all my thoughts were quieted to sleep.
Behind me, on the walk, I heard a step --
I did not know my heart could tell his tread,
I did not know I loved him till that hour.
Within my breast I felt a wild, sick pain,
The garden reeled a little, I was weak,
And quick he came behind me, caught my arms,
That ached beneath his touch; and then I swayed,
My head fell backward and I saw his face.
All this grows bitter that was once so sweet,
And many mouths must drain the dregs of it.
But none will pity me, nor pity him
Whom Love so lashed, and with such cruel thongs.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Please Be Quiet
He spoke and spoke so many words
and she just silently thought.
He had an opinion on everything.
She listened and then she sought
silence again, just said Amen
to all those words he said,
Soon thoughts came to her head.
She thought about life.
She thought about love.
She thought about
all he was speaking of.
She thought about nights
where silence prevailed.
She thought about days
where the speaking assailed
her ears.
She'd been thinking and thinking
for too many years.
The quietness was peaceful
but now brought her to tears.
For she missed the sound
of all his words.
She missed everything he said.
He was gone and all was quiet
for all his words were dead.
The thoughts were still there.
The words were not.
And what was it he said?
She forgot.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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I Guess You Get Used To Somebody
(tom shapiro, steve bogard)
I thought I felt you touch my cheek this morning
But I mustve been dreaming
And in the middle of the night without a warning
I thought I heard you breathing
Me and my so-called independence
Ive got this loneliness thats so relentless
I guess you get used to somebody
Kinda like having them around
I guess you get used to the way they make you happy
Bring you up when youre feeling down
I never dreamed when I was letting you go that
I would wake up and miss you this much
I guess you get used to somebody, I guess you get used to being loved
I kinda miss those rambling conversations
Where wed talk about nothing
The way you always made me laugh at my frustrations
Baby that was something
I shouldve been careful what I wished for
cause Ive got my freedom and so much more
I guess you get used to somebody
Kinda like having them around
I guess you get used to the way they make you happy
Bring you up when youre feeling down
I never dreamed when I was letting you go that
I would wake up and miss you this much
I guess you get used to somebody, I guess you get used to being loved
I never dreamed when I was letting you go that
I would wake up and miss you this much
I guess you get used to somebody
I guess you get used to being loved
I guess you get used to somebody
I guess you get used to being loved
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Old Diary
In the first page you had written
I loved to weep
One day I wept seeing the hunger
In a street dogs face...
The other day seeing the will to fly
Kissing the pages of sky
In the ink of the wings of a bird inside a cage
And one day when i knew that I am growing young
I asked if you wanted to be a child always
In the other I saw you had written
I wanted to fall in love
I looked for it every where
Every second of my youth, in the winds of spring and autumn
In the fleets of unseen ships carrying distant dreams
In the waves they upon which they travel
Even in the petals of roses kept for sale
I asked how many times you fooled yourself
Around the last pages painted your ink-
It was not long I remained the same
Some days I said everything
And at nights mourned the absence of the company of my secrets
And some days I walked in the robes of pen and ink
Some days I just stayed back
And thought and thought only of your portrait
In darkness I sought my own shadow
I tried to come out of myself
I wanted to wear a new dress
I was desperate on not finding anyone whom I could ask why?
Who would buy me a smile even with a beautiful lie
A dried petal was in your last page
Some strokes of dying redness
I thought perhaps your diary is now old...
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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I Dreamed.
I dreamed a dream and in that dream,
I dreamed that I had dreamed a dream,
Of hope and fairytales come true,
I dreamed a dream and thought of truth,
I dreamed a dream of life and love,
Of fate and angels and God above,
I dreamed a dream of good wishes and friends,
I dreamed a dream I dreaded to end,
But then I woke into my dream,
I dreamed I woke in a world obscene,
I dreamed a dream of violence and hate,
And once again I dreamed of fate,
I dreamed a dream of terror and fear,
I dreamed that each word went unheard,
And so children never spoke a word,
I dreamed a dream of demons and beasts,
I dreamed a dream that ended at last,
I woke in my bed and wondered if,
I dreamed a dream of dreams or if,
I dreamed a dream of truth that night,
And if so I wondered which was truth,
And which was merely a dream.
poem by Emma Wright
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Beautiful Thought
Beautiful thought
I had.
Beautiful thought
I dreamed.
Beautiful thought,
pulled from obscurity
dwells in me.
Beautifully aching,
testing limits of control
pushing,
assaulting my conscience,
taking its toll.
Beautiful thought
I had.
Beautiful thought
I dreamed.
This thought
that plagues, torments,
over joys, frees me
perhaps is
key.
This thought that came
of love inspiring love
came gently, softly,
slowly, costly
it may be
beauty
That inspires an artist
in his craft,
or humor that
inspires one
to laugh.
Perhaps intrigue
inspires one
to learn.
But love,
only love,
inspires love
in return.
Beautiful thought
I had.
Beautiful thought
I dreamed.
That love given
has inspired
me.
© Jillian Scott 2008
poem by Jillian Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Born To Be Loved By You
Borne again.
Because have you at just being borne again.
At last I feel that Im alive and more.
This is the moment Ive waited for.
Born to be loved by you.born to be loved by you.
Born to walk with you.born to talk with you.
I was born for you.
Born to be with you, only you.
Born to be loved by you.
Born for you, born for you baby.
Born for you, born for you baby.
Born for you, born to be loved by you
(you and only you) born to be with only you.
I look at you and all at once I know that dreams come true.
For there you are the other part of me.
I have found my destiny.
Born to be loved by you.born to be loved by you.
Right or wrong for you.weak or strong for you.
Faithful or untrue
Born chained forever and far beyond.
Born to be loved by you and only you
No one else will do.
Heart and soul,born to be loved
Born to be loved.born to be loved by you.
(you and only you,born to be with only you)
Born for you.born for you baby.
Born for you.born for you baby.
Born for you, born for you baby..
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Before I Met You
(charles l. seitz, joe lewis, elmer rader)
Well I thought I had seen good looking men in my time
That was before I met you
And I never saw one that I wanted for mine
But that was before I met you
Chorus:
Well I thought I was swinging the world by the tail
I thought I could never be blue
I thought Id been kissed
And I thought Id been loved
But that was before I met you
Well I wanted to ramble and always be free
That was before I met you
And I said that nobody could ever hold me
But that was before I met you
Repeat chorus
I thought Id been kissed
And I thought Id been loved
But that was before I met you
Darling that was before I met you
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dreams Of A Child
I was just a kid
In love with you
I couldn't sleep
For thinking of you
You never hurt me
You never sent me away
You always loved me
In your own special way
I was a child in madness
Violence and sadness
But you showed me the way
To love one day
I thought I loved you
I thought you loved me
I guess it was
Just the tears of a child
Wanting to be loved
When I laid in bed at night
And heard the pain
Of my mothers plight
I'd close my eyes
And think of you
You never hurt me
You never sent me away
You always loved me
In your own special way
Dreams of a child
Turn into nightmares of a man
Making me want to end
This life of hell
But then I think of you
And the dreams I had of you
And decide to stay another day
Childhood memories lost
Except for the ones
Of knowing you
You never hurt me
You never sent me away
You always loved me
In your own special way
When I lie down and die
I will always know
I at least loved once
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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039: Thoughts On The Sacrifice of Nails
My Nails are access
To vaults of thought
Creating I hope an experience for some
With their demise.
Their sacrifice opens doors to views beyond
Created in their death and born in their ashes
I surrender them willingly,
In the hope for inspiration,
Through their small loss
I gain insight to thought and contemplation
They are the keys to my soul
Their death is mourned
But they will return
Ever renewing those thoughts
Which without their loss
Would not be born
Or ever become the written word
poem by Colin Johnston
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Caught
As a child,
I remember the first time...
Playing hide-and-seek.
Peeking to duck.
That's all I knew to do.
I didn't want to be the one caught.
I thought my hiding places could not be seen.
With a thinking everything I said,
And where I could be would be believed.
I was a child and a child occupied my head.
And I would lie as I hid from others to hide.
But as a child I had no idea,
My attempts to fool and deceive...
Others much older than me already did.
It was as if I had been a plate of unclouded glass.
Hiding.
But everywhere I sought to hide...
Eventually I was caught.
I thought my hiding places could not be seen.
With a thinking everything I said,
And where I could be would be believed.
Until it dawned on me when I got older...
I was no longer a child seeking hiding places sought.
And I grew tired of that as I matured.
Tired I grew...
Of getting caught.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Words of Love
You loved me you said.
But I was never quite sure.
Yes, I think you loved me
but I always wanted more.
The more that I needed
I never did receive.
And so when you said you loved me
I found it hard to believe.
I could never quite reckon
with just what was missing.
It was certainly not the hugging
and certainly not the kissing.
It was something intangible
I coudn't put my finger on.
Just when I thought I understood
the thought would be gone.
And I'd fall back to the same old pattern
of loving you too much,
always waiting your approach,
always craving your touch.
You love me you always say.
Still I'm not quite sure
that when you are saying it
why my heart's still sore?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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I Thought...
I thought you would be true
I thought I loved you
I thought you loved me
But I guess I couldn't see
There could have been an 'us'
But instead she came along
Right when everything was great
Now I know I was wrong
You said I love you
You said it true
That was until
You found something real
Now it's as if I'm nothing
Compared to your something
While I'm thinking great
When I know we can't date
Because of her
You can't choose
Because of her
Now I feel used.
poem by Mystykka Mysterious
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For Jami
My dear Jami
When I thought
I had began to love you
More than I had loved
Any other girlfriend
White or black
Before you,
I decided it was time you left
For I knew I was about to enter
The most difficult period of my life
And I wanted to suffer alone.
.
But then, I would've liked
You to wait for me
While I consulted
With the keepers of solitude -
The oracle of the poets;
And you wept,
And I wept when you weren't looking;
We loved each other so,
Then I changed my mind again
And thought I had better come
To America.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Born In A Prison
Were born in a prison, raised in a prison,
Sent to a prison called school.
We cry in a prison, we love in a prison,
We dream in a prison like fools.
Wood becomes a flute when its loved,
Reach for yourself and your battered mates.
Mirror becomes a razor when its broken,
Look in the mirror and see your shattered fate.
We live with no reason, kicked round for no reason,
Thrown out without reason like tools.
We work in a prison and hate in a prison,
And die in a prison as a rule.
Wood becomes a flute when its loved,
Reach for yourself and your battered mates.
Mirror becomes a razor when its broken,
Look in the mirror and see your shattered fate.
We live in a prison mong judges and wardens
And wait for no reason for you.
We laugh in a prison, go through all four seasons,
And die with no vision of truth.
Wood becomes a flute when its loved,
Reach for yourself and your battered mates.
Mirror becomes a razor when its broken,
Look in the mirror and see your shattered fate.
Born in a prison!
(born in a prison!)
(born in a prison!)
(born in a prison!)
Born in a prison!
(born in a prison!)
(born in a prison!)
Born in a prison!
Born in a prison!
Born in a prison!
(born in a prison!)
(born in a prison!)
Born in a prison!
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Born In A Prison
Were born in a prison, raised in a prison,
Sent to a prison called school.
We cry in a prison, we love in a prison,
We dream in a prison like fools.
Wood becomes a flute when its loved,
Reach for yourself and your battered mates.
Mirror becomes a razor when its broken,
Look in the mirror and see your shattered fate.
We live with no reason, kicked round for no reason,
Thrown out without reason like tools.
We work in a prison and hate in a prison,
And die in a prison as a rule.
Wood becomes a flute when its loved,
Reach for yourself and your battered mates.
Mirror becomes a razor when its broken,
Look in the mirror and see your shattered fate.
We live in a prison mong judges and wardens
And wait for no reason for you.
We laugh in a prison, go through all four seasons,
And die with no vision of truth.
Wood becomes a flute when its loved,
Reach for yourself and your battered mates.
Mirror becomes a razor when its broken,
Look in the mirror and see your shattered fate.
Born in a prison!
(born in a prison!)
(born in a prison!)
(born in a prison!)
Born in a prison!
(born in a prison!)
(born in a prison!)
Born in a prison!
Born in a prison!
Born in a prison!
(born in a prison!)
(born in a prison!)
Born in a prison!
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just the Thought of You
When days like these...
Come and go to leave me feeling drained,
And weak.
Just the thought of you,
Brightens my point of view.
Giving me a strength to endure.
Just the thought of you,
Helps me through...
When days like these,
Traps me inside to welcome despair.
You may be there and not here,
When days like these...
Seem to come along with a mission to squeeze,
Every breath I breathe.
Just the thought of you,
Unclouds my view.
When days like these...
Come to pursue those moments I am alone.
And subdued in wishes I desire to exist.
But you give me reasons to remember,
I am loved!
And I choose those thoughts of you,
To keep me lifted.
When days like these insist to visit me.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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