To A Lady Asking Foolish Questions
Why am I sorry, Chloe? Because the moon is far:
And who am I to be straitened in a little earthly star?
Because thy face is fair? And what if it had not been,
The fairest face of all is the face I have not seen.
Because the land is cold, and however I scheme and plot,
I cannot find a ferry to the land where I am not.
Because thy lips are red and thy breasts upbraid the snow?
(There is neither white nor red in the pleasance where I go.)
Because thy lips grow pale and thy breasts grow dun and fall?
I go where the wind blows, Chloe, and am not sorry at all.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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Related quotes
Warm And Tender
Warm and tender is my prayer for your world, that I surrender to my girl
All my life I've waited for the angel you are
You're the dream that I knew you'd be
And I love you completely my Chloe, Chloe
Warm and tender, I will color your days, with smiles and friends along the way
From the silver morning to the blue velvet night
Through it all you can count on me
And I love you completely my Chloe, Chloe
I'll make you a world to grow in, where you will be safe and free
I'll save you a greener world, where you can be
Warm and tender you will heal all the world
Your touch can mend a mother's heart
Everyday I'm thankful for the blessing you are
You're the future, the hope we need
And I love you completely my Chloe, Chloe, Chloe, Chloe
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Warm & Tender
(olivia newton-john/john farrar)
Warm and tender is my prayer for your world
That I surrender to my girl
All my life Ive waited for the angel you are
Youre the dream that I knew youd be
And I love you completely my chloe/chloe
Warm and tender--i will color your days
With smiles and friends along the way
From the silver morning
To the blue velvet night
Through it all you can count on me
And I love you completely my chloe/chloe
Ill make you a world to grow in
Where you will be safe and free
Ill save you a greener world
Where you can be
Warm and tender you will heal all the world
Your touch can mend a mothers heart
Everyday Im thankful for the blessing you are
Youre the future, the hope we need
And I love you completely my chloe/chloe/chloe/chloe
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Land of snow
I dreamt of a land, a land so high,
A land of snow which touches the sky,
Where the rivers are born, and torn apart
To wash the sins of many eyes.
On the snowy hill, where the waters chilled,
Would touch my lips, have my thirst killed,
I sit and bite on the blowing wind
And have in me some snow filled.
The dream broke with a sudden blow,
Oh! An upheavel on the top floor,
I get off my bed and wet my face,
And walk on my land of no snow.
poem by Shouvik Roy
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Avalanche-the White Death
The land is white
The name of the land brings you
to the land of nothing
The name is white
The white is dead
Sun shines pale, the land shades full of pain
Avalea doesn't bloom and fall in this drain
I'm going back alive again
But no one's crying for the dead
The land is still white
Ice and snow are still the same as yesterday
But the wind is stronger in the sorrow
The land is white
The white is dead
They weep wherever they blow
Forever love, cursed land
Forever goodbye, my lovely land
No more tears falling in this land
Even the sand doesn't know
why he doesn't round to anywhere
The land has frozen like stone
The air is blowed dead
The land is white
The name is white
The land called white is dead
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The Charming Month of May
It was the charming month of May,
When all the flow’rs were fresh and gay.
One morning, by the break of day,
The youthful, charming Chloe—
From peaceful slumber she arose,
Girt on her mantle and her hose,
And o’er the flow’ry mead she goes—
The youthful, charming Chloe.
Chorus:
Lovely was she by the dawn,
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe,
Tripping o’er the pearly lawn,
The youthful, charming Chloe.
The feather’d people you might see
Perch’d all around on every tree,
In notes of sweetest melody
They hail the charming Chloe;
Till, painting gay the eastern skies,
The glorious sun began to rise,
Outrival’d by the radiant eyes
Of youthful, charming Chloe.
Chorus
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Just For One Night
she is attractive
all the right curves
and a pretty face
she is noticeable
and forgettable
she fills a thought
made in lustful desire
legs, lips, breasts
there's a temptation
or a dream for later on
you do no stare at her
just look over a few times
gathering a picture
thinking something over
sex had its own reasons
for coming and going
often without compassion
that girl, pretty as she is
her legs, lips, breasts
would fill an appetite
just for one night
poem by Matthew Holloway
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When The Wind Blows
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
In a part of this once-great city
Stands a child crying out in pity.
Gone is hope in the heart of each hungry hour.
Every year in this land of plenty
There are millions of starving children
What will i say if they look my way?
This is an emergency.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
Bow your heads to the lost generation
Scars so deep, bringing god's damnation.
Businessmen sip wine while congress argue.
But for grace we enjoy our pleasures
What we face will be our salvation
Go build your towns, but remember time will not forget
That this is an emergency.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
Think of what the wise men said.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Question to Lisetta
WHAT nymph should I admire or trust,
But Chloe beauteous, Chloe just?
What nymph should I desire to see,
But her who leaves the plain for me?
To whom should I compose the lay,
But her who listens when I play?
To whom in song repeat my cares,
But her who in my sorrow shares?
For whom should I the garland make,
But her who joys the gift to take,
And boasts she wears it for my sake?
In love am I not fully blest?
Lisetta, prithee tell the rest.
LISETTA'S REPLY
Sure Chloe just, and Chloe fair,
Deserves to be your only care;
But, when you and she to-day
Far into the wood did stray,
And I happen'd to pass by,
Which way did you cast your eye?
But, when your cares to her you sing,
You dare not tell her whence they spring:
Does it not more afflict your heart,
That in those cares she bears a part?
When you the flowers for Chloe twine,
Why do you to her garland join
The meanest bud that falls from mine?
Simplest of swains! the world may see
Whom Chloe loves, and who loves me.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Before the Mirror
I.
WHITE ROSE in red rose-garden
Is not so white;
Snowdrops that plead for pardon
And pine for fright
Because the hard East blows
Over their maiden rows
Grow not as this face grows from pale to bright.
Behind the veil, forbidden,
Shut up from sight,
Love, is there sorrow hidden,
Is there delight?
Is joy thy dower or grief,
White rose of weary leaf,
Late rose whose life is brief, whose loves are light?
Soft snows that hard winds harden
Till each flake bite
Fill all the flowerless garden
Whose flowers took flight
Long since when summer ceased,
And men rose up from feast,
And warm west wind grew east, and warm day night.
II.
“Come snow, come wind or thunder
High up in air,
I watch my face, and wonder
At my bright hair;
Nought else exalts or grieves
The rose at heart, that heaves
With love of her own leaves and lips that pair.
“She knows not loves that kissed her
She knows not where.
Art thou the ghost, my sister,
White sister there,
Am I the ghost, who knows?
My hand, a fallen rose,
Lies snow-white on white snows, and takes no care.
“I cannot see what pleasures
Or what pains were;
What pale new loves and treasures
New years will bear;
What beam will fall, what shower,
What grief or joy for dower;
But one thing knows the flower; the flower is fair.”
III.
Glad, but not flushed with gladness,
Since joys go by;
Sad, but not bent with sadness,
Since sorrows die;
Deep in the gleaming glass
She sees all past things pass,
And all sweet life that was lie down and lie.
There glowing ghosts of flowers
Draw down, draw nigh;
And wings of swift spent hours
Take flight and fly;
She sees by formless gleams,
She hears across cold streams,
Dead mouths of many dreams that sing and sigh.
Face fallen and white throat lifted,
With sleepless eye
She sees old loves that drifted,
She knew not why,
Old loves and faded fears
Float down a stream that hears
The flowing of all men’s tears beneath the sky.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Broken Face
I got a broken face
I got a
I got a broken face
Uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, ooo
I got a broken face (3x)
There was this boy who had two
Children with his sisters
They were his daughters
They were his favourite lovers
I got no lips, I got no tongue
Whatever I say is only spit
I got no lips, I got no tongue
I got a broken face, uh-hu, uh-hu
I got a broken face
There was this man who snapped his poke
In little pieces
And then they drilled holes
And then they put em back in there
I got no lips, I got no tongue
Whatever I say is only spit
I got no lips, I got no tongue
I got a broken face
Uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, uh-hu, ooo
I got a broken face
The little thing who does my laundry
Speaks no english
But if you saw her
Youd say isnt she lovely
I got no lips, I got no tongue
Whatever I say is only spit
I got no lips, I got no tongue
song performed by by Pixies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The face is value giver.
To know which breasts are lovely
From the two pairs looking alike,
I must know whose breasts they are.
The breasts owe their value to their face.
31.01.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Before Choir One Friday Eve
Before choir practice
before entering
the vestry door
you and Judith
stayed behind
and waited until
the others
had gone inside
and Judith said
look at those stars
and how dark blue
the sky is
you gazed up
at the evening spread
of dark blue
and stars
and moon
to one side
and you put
your hand
around her waist
and drew her close
and she lay
against you
and you said
I read some place
that some
of those distant stars
burned out
centuries ago
and what we see
is the ghostly glow
of dead stars
and she turned your head
towards her
and kissed you
and the pressing
of her lips on yours
and her hands
on your waist
and her 13 year old
breasts pushing
against your
14 year old chest
and the sound
of the choir starting up
in practice in the church
and the flight of bats
across
the evening sky
and she holding you near
and the lips engaged
and the eyes closed
and the breathing
taken in
coming up for air
and behind you
the aging graves
the tombstones
with moss
and half lit
by moonlight
and star's glow
and you held her
in place face to face
with your hands
upon the cheeks
of her behind
eyes still closed
in the land
of the love sucked
blind.
poem by Terry Collett
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Chloe
NIGHT wind sighing through the poplar leaves,
Trembling of the aspen, shivering of the willow,
Every leafy voice of all the night-time grieves,
Mourning, weeping over Chloe's pillow.
Chloe, fresher than the breeze of dawn,
Fairer than the larches in their young spring glory,
Brighter than the glow-worms on the dewy lawn,
Hear the dirge the green trees sing to end your story:--
'Chloe lived and Chloe loved: she brought new gladness,
Hope and life and all things good to all who met her;
Only, dying, wept to know the lifelong sadness
Willed, against her will, to those who can't forget her.'
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Pêcheresse
Down the long quay the slow boats glide,
While here and there a house looms white
Against the gloom of the waterside,
And some high window throws a light
As they sail out into the night.
At dawn they will bring in again
To women knitting on the quay
Who wait for him, their man of men;
I stand with them, and watch the sea
Which may have taken mine from me.
Just so the long days come and go.
The nights, ma Doué! the nights are cold!
Our Lady's heart is as frozen snow,
Since this one sin I have not told;
And I shall die or perhaps grow old
Before he comes. The foreign ships
Bring many a one of face and name
As strange as his, to buy your lips,
A gold piece for a scarlet shame
Like mine. But mine was not the same.
One night was ours, one short grey day
Of sudden sin, unshrived, untold.
He found me, and I lost the way
To Paradise for him. I sold
My soul for love and not for gold
He bought my soul, but even so,
My face is all that he has seen,
His is the only face I know,
And in the dark church, like a screen.
It shuts God out; it comes between;
While in some narrow foreign street
Or loitering on the crowded quay,
Who knows what others he may meet
To turn his eyes away from me?
Many are fair to such as he!
There is but one for such as I
To love, to hate, to hunger for;
I shall, perhaps, grow old and die,
With one short day to spend and store,
One night, in all my life, no more.
Just so the long days come and go,
Yet this one sin I will not tell
Though Mary's heart is as frozen snow
And all nights are cold for one warmed too well.
But, oh! ma Doué! the nights of Hell!
poem by Charlotte Mary Mew
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The First Of the Slowly Falling Snow
O snow that glitters on the ground
That slowly falls and covers fall
Your the purest of white as you fall from heaven
Blanketing the woods and condemning it to silence
You softly fall on the branch of a tree
As you land you melt with sadness
But you grow stronger as the angels bestow coldness on the land
You renew the dying land giving birth to new life
As you slowly fall and blanket the land
The animals all go to sleep waiting for the new birth
But till then you slowly fall
Blossom of Life
SO now she lies silent and sweet
With white flowers at her head and feet,
And she, the fairest flower, between.
The bud that with her bosom's swell
In dear delight once rose and fell
Now wafts her all it has to tell,
And wonders why she sleeps serene.
And yet in life how small a part,
With pretty face and petty heart,
She played! And in that form so fair
There never dwelt a deep desire,
Her bosom never thrilled a-fire:
She loved too lightly e'en to tire—
And all my heart was meant for her.
Was there a soul within those eyes
That seemed to speak my dear surmise,
That with no tears were ever wet?
Through life she laughed her careless way,
She knew not sorrow or dismay—
And I have sorrowed day by day,
While those pale lips are smiling yet!
And so she lies on her small bed,
With white flowers at her feet and head,
And she, the fairest flower between!
In life how false the little rôle —
The peerless face, the paltry soul!
But she is perfect now—the whole
Pale blossom of the Might-Have-Been.
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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One Face
One face in a crowd is hard to find.
One face in that crowd is on my mind.
How can I find the face of one,
The face that to me is like the sun?
Shiny and bright with a radiant glow,
The face that picks me up when I'm low,
Eyes that light up wherever they are
Just like the splendor of an evening star,
Lips that break into the sweetest smile
That lingers for me for the longest while,
Hair that surrounds that face like a frame
That always sets my heart aflame.
I search all the faces but cannot see
The one that means the world to me.
I'm lost. I'm wretched. This should not be.
There are too many faces. I'm lost at sea.
One last glance and to my surprise
There's your face, your smile, your eyes.
The crowd's still there but not for me.
For the face I love is all I see.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Not Even A Number
tiny small hands
curled up in death
that reached for the breasts
of the mother....
lips swollen and parted,
face bruised and distorted,
left to rot.... in a dumpster.
spit out by the system,
trash begats trash...
no one knows the name
of mother or child....
in the land of Jesus,
SUV's and credit cards,
not a prayer....
not even a number!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Modesty counts
Breasts when hidden add value to the cleavage.
Breasts when hidden make the loins seductive.
Breasts when hidden add poise to the face
Breasts must be hidden to make men erotic.
25.01.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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White snow
It had snowed for hours
We remained completely indoors
There was no other go then to confine
Though we all were feeing very fine
It was season’s first fall
We waited for nature’s call
The land was covered with white sheet
The area was deep and clad with many feet
The children came out with no fear
The joyous voice was there to hear
They had their own choice to celebrate
It was wonderful experience to narrate
May be we are representing snow
We have not prepared ourselves to grow
Now as river water is frozen to by Celsius zero
There won’t be any reason for us to feel hero
The relations are frozen to dangerous level
There is hardly anything to project or tell
We have become symbolic as nature
Flowing away from secured line of future
I know every year it may come and snow
The icy winds may be faster to flow
It will send chill waves into bones
The ill waves will never be by gone
I will grow with all sorts of cold and rain
It will be only aimed to get something or gain
Nothing is compared to the quality of nature
As he is totally unaware of it or sure
What will be impact of my cold behavior?
Nothing so far as my nature is known to others
It has deep in our blood and mind
We are not for anything good to find
The cold spell may last long
The snow is part of life and belongs
It may bring fortune little later
When turn into water with complete situation to alter
Though clad completely white over vast area of land
We see no hidden plot from nature’s hand
It is her yearly schedule to be in time as expected
We are here to honor it and positively acted
Though very harsh during complete season
We face it willingly without any reason
It has its own charm and in right place
Complete world is in joy to rush for race
It does not baffle anybody not even local man
They are used to it as normal human
The sports person may have their own inception
The general feeling is for warm welcome and reception
We have into being with reality
Nature has its own cycle and quality
We are not copying any of the hard hit calamities
It has its own inherent inbuilt utilities
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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