Villanelle of His Lady’s Treasures
I took her dainty eyes, as well
As silken tendrils of her hair:
And so I made a Villanelle!
I took her voice, a silver bell,
As clear as song, as soft as prayer;
I took her dainty eyes as well.
It may be, said I, who can tell,
These things shall be my less despair?
And so I made a Villanelle!
I took her whiteness virginal
And from her cheek two roses rare:
I took her dainty eyes as well.
I said: “It may be possible
Her image from my heart to tear!”
And so I made a Villanelle.
I stole her laugh, most musical:
I wrought it in with artful care;
I took her dainty eyes as well;
And so I made a Villanelle.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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Related quotes
A Dainty Thing's The Villanelle
A DAINTY thing's the Villanelle,
Sly, musical, a jewel in rhyme,
It serves its purpose passing well.
A double-clappered silver bell
That must be made to clink in chime,
A dainty thing's the Villanelle;
And if you wish to flute a spell,
Or ask a meeting 'neath the lime,
It serves its purpose passing well.
You must not ask of it the swell
Of organs grandiose and sublime--
A dainty thing's the Villanelle;
And, filled with sweetness, as a shell
Is filled with sound, and launched in time,
It serves its purpose passing well.
Still fair to see and good to smell
As in the quaintness of its prime,
A dainty thing's the Villanelle,
It serves its purpose passing well.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Villanelle
A dainty thing's the Villanelle.
Sly, musical, a jewel in rhyme,
It serves its purpose passing well.
A doublc-clappered silver bell
That must be made to clink in chime,
A dainty thing's the Villanelle;
And if you wish to flute a spell,
Or ask a meeting 'neath the lime,
It serves its purpose passing well.
You must not ask of it the swell
Of organs grandiose and sublime-
A dainty thing's the Villanelle;
And, filled with sweetness, as a shell
Is filled with sound, and launched in time,
It serves its purpose passing well.
Still fair to see and good to smell
As in the quaintness of its prime,
A dainty thing's the Villanelle,
It serves its purpose passing well.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Villanelle of Ye Young Poet's First Villanelle to his Ladye and Ye Difficulties Thereof
To sing the charms of Rosabelle,
To pour my soul out at her feet,
I try to write this villanelle.
Now I am caught within her spell,
It seems to me most wondrous sweet
To sing the charms of Rosabelle.
I seek in vain for words to tell
My love -- Alas, my muse is weak!
I try to write this villanelle.
Would I had power to compel
The English language incomplete
To sing the charms of Rosabelle.
The ardent thoughts that in me dwell
On paper I would fair repeat
I try to write this villanelle.
My effort fruitless is. O H--l!
I'll tell her all when next we meet.
To sing the charms of Rosabelle,
I tried to write this villanelle.
poem by Eugene O'Neill
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Dainty Davie
Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers;
And now comes in the happy hours,
To wander wi' my Davie.
Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Dainty Davie, Dainty Davie;
There I'll spend the day wi' you,
My ain dear Dainty Davie.
The crystal waters round us fa',
The merry birds are lovers a',
The scented breezes round us blaw,
A wandering wi' my Davie.
Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Dainty Davie, Dainty Davie;
There I'll spend the day wi' you,
My ain dear Dainty Davie.
As purple morning starts the hare,
To steal upon her early fare,
Then thro' the dews I will repair,
To meet my faithfu' Davie.
Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Dainty Davie, Dainty Davie;
There I'll spend the day wi' you,
My ain dear Dainty Davie.
When day, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws o' Nature's rest,
I flee to his arms I loe' the best,
And that's my ain dear Davie.
Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Dainty Davie, Dainty Davie;
There I'll spend the day wi' you,
My ain dear Dainty Davie.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Word For It
'Scorn not the sonnet.' Well, I reckon not,
I would not scorn a rondeau, villanelle,
Ballade, sestina, triolet, rondel,
Or e'en a quatrain, humble and forgot,
An so it made my Pegasus to trot
His morning lap what time he heard the bell;
An so it made the poem stuff to jell-
To mix a met.-an so it boil'd the pot.
Oh, sweet set form that varies not a bit!
I taste thy joy, not quite unknown to Keats.
'Scorn? ' Nay, I love thy fine symmetric
grace.
In sonnets one knows always where to quit,
Unlike in other poems where one cheats
And strings it out to fill the yawning
space.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Sonnet XXII: Come Time
Come Time, the anchor-hold of my desire,
My last resort whereto my hopes appeal,
Cause once the date of her disdain t'expire;
Make her the sentence of her wrath repeal.
Rob her fair Brow, break in on Beauty, steal
Power from those eyes, which pity cannot spare;
Deal with those dainty cheeks as she doth deal
With this poor heart consumed with despair;
This heart made now the prospective of care,
By loving her, the cruelst Fair that lives,
The cruelst Fair that sees I pine for her,
And never mercy to my merit gives.
Let her not still triumph over the prize
Of mine affections taken by her eyes.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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Flowers
I will not have the mad Clytie,
Whose head is turned by the sun;
The tulip is a courtly queen,
Whom, therefore, I will shun;
The cowslip is a country wench,
The violet is a nun; -
But I will woo the dainty rose,
The queen of everyone.
The pea is but a wanton witch,
In too much haste to wed,
And clasps her rings on every hand
The wolfsbane I should dread; -
Nor will I dreary rosemary
That always mourns the dead; -
But I will woo the dainty rose,
With her cheeks of tender red.
The lily is all in white, like a saint,
And so is no mate for me -
And the daisy's cheek is tipped with blush,
She is of such low degree;
Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves,
And the broom's betrothed to the bee; -
But I will plight with the dainty rose,
For fairest of all is she.
poem by Thomas Hood
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Alankar(Decor) -64
A Visit TO A Seal Colony(Villanelle)
The Villanelle is:
1.metered, primarily iambic pentameter.
2.written in a total of 19 lines, made up of 5 tercets and ending with a quatrain.
3.L1 and L3 of the first stanza, alternate as the refrain in the following tercets.
It was indeed a grand picnic event
Tho' hard by wheels in rains on long rough road
Seaward to see the seals our long intent
Up blocked cut crossed in flown spillways paths wet
Did not get back but all enjoyed pursued
It was indeed a grand picnic event
Sun light sinking so rushed and reached our spot
Oh God! we saw nature's settings-fulfilled
Seaward to see the seals our long intent
Ah, pups and moms and dads so brown so great
And seals clumping snoozing along accrued
It was indeed a grand picnic event
Furry some rocked risky some raged stepped out
When saw a seal in haste closer-fulfilled
Seaward to see the seals our long intent
Pictures, photos bagful no need to get
For those scenic great seals our hearts well stored
It was indeed a grand picnic event
Seaward to see the seals our long intent
poem by Indira Renganathan
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A Portrait
LIKE the sway of the silver birch in the breeze of dawn
Is her dainty way;
Like the gray of a twilight sky or a starlit lawn
Are her eyes of gray;
Like the clouds in their moving white
Is her breast's soft stir;
And white as the moon and bright
Is the soul of her.
Like murmur of woods in spring ere the leaves be green,
Like the voice of a bird
That sings by a stream that sings through the night unseen,
So her voice is heard.
And the secret her eyes withhold
In my soul abides,
For white as the moon and cold
Is the heart she hides.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Baby Bell
I
Have you not heard the poets tell
How came the dainty Baby Bell
Into this world of ours?
The gates of heaven were left ajar:
With folded hands and dreamy eyes,
Wandering out of Paradise,
She saw this planet, like a star,
Hung in the glistening depths of even -
Its bridges, running to and fro,
O'er which the white-winged Angels go,
Bearing the holy Dead to heaven.
She touched a bridge of flowers - those feet,
So light they did not bend the bells
Of the celestial asphodels,
They fell like dew upon the flowers:
Then all the air grew strangely sweet.
And thus came dainty Baby Bell
Into this world of ours.
II
She came and brought delicious May;
The swallows built beneath the eaves;
Like sunlight, in and out the leaves
The robins went, the livelong day;
The lily swung its noiseless bell;
And on the porch the slender vine
Held out its cups of fairy wine.
How tenderly the twilights fell!
Oh, earth was full of singing-birds
And opening springtide flowers,
When the dainty Baby Bell
Came to this world of ours.
III
O Baby, dainty Baby Bell,
How fair she grew from day to day!
What woman-nature filled her eyes,
What poetry within them lay -
Those deep and tender twilight eyes,
So full of meaning, pure and bright
As if she yet stood in the light
Of those oped gates of Paradise.
And so we loved her more and more:
Ah, never in our hearts before
Was love so lovely born:
We felt we had a link between
This real world and that unseen -
The land beyond the morn;
And for the love of those dear eyes,
For love of her whom God led forth,
(The mother's being ceased on earth
When Baby came from Paradise,) -
For love of Him who smote our lives,
And woke the chords of joy and pain,
We said, Dear Christ! - our hearts bowed down
Like violets after rain.
IV
And now the orchards, which were white
And pink with blossoms when she came,
Were rich in autumn's mellow prime;
The clustered apples burnt like flame,
The folded chestnut burst its shell,
The grapes hung purpling, range on range;
And time wrought just as rich a change
In little Baby Bell.
Her lissome form more perfect grew,
And in her features we could trace,
In softened curves, her mother's face.
Her angel-nature ripened too:
We thought her lovely when she came,
But she was holy, saintly now…
Around her pale angelic brow
We saw a slender ring of flame.
V
God's hand had taken away the seal
That held the portals of her speech;
And oft she said a few strange words
Whose meaning lay beyond our reach.
She never was a child to us,
We never held her being's key;
We could not teach her holy things
Who was Christ's self in purity.
VI
It came upon us by degrees,
We saw its shadow ere it fell -
The knowledge that our God had sent
His messenger for Baby Bell.
We shuddered with unlanguaged pain,
And all our hopes were changed to fears,
And all our thoughts ran into tears
Like sunshine into rain.
We cried aloud in our belief,
'Oh, smite us gently, gently, God!
Teach us to bend and kiss the rod,
And perfect grow through grief.'
Ah! how we loved her, God can tell;
Her heart was folded deep in ours.
Our hearts are broken, Baby Bell!
VII
At last he came, the messenger,
The messenger from unseen lands:
And what did dainty Baby Bell?
She only crossed her little hands,
She only looked more meek and fair!
We parted back her silken hair,
We wove the roses round her brow -
White buds, the summer's drifted snow -
Wrapped her from head to foot in flowers…
And thus went dainty Baby Bell
Out of this world of ours.
poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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A Recipe
Take a pair of sparkling eyes,
Hidden, ever and anon,
In a merciful eclipse -
Do not heed their mild surprise -
Having passed the Rubicon.
Take a pair of rosy lips;
Take a figure trimly planned -
Such as admiration whets
(Be particular in this);
Take a tender little hand,
Fringed with dainty fingerettes,
Press it - in parenthesis; -
Take all these, you lucky man -
Take and keep them, if you can.
Take a pretty little cot -
Quite a miniature affair -
Hung about with trellised vine,
Furnish it upon the spot
With the treasures rich and rare
I've endeavoured to define.
Live to love and love to live -
You will ripen at your ease,
Growing on the sunny side -
Fate has nothing more to give.
You're a dainty man to please
If you are not satisfied.
Take my counsel, happy man:
Act upon it, if you can!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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The Willow
Who shall sing a simple ditty about the Willow,
Dainty-fine and delicate as any bending spray
That dandles high the dainty bird that flutters there to trill a
Tremulously tender song of greeting to the May.
Bravest, too, of all the trees! -- none to match your daring,--
First of greens to greet the Spring and lead in leafy sheen;--
Aye, and you're the last -- almost into winter wearing
Still the leaf of loyalty -- still the badge of green.
Ah, my lovely willow! --let the waters lilt your graces,--
They alone with limped kisses lave your leaves above,
Flashing back your silvan beauty, and in shady places
Peering up with glimmering pebbles, like the eyes of love.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The sound of Sunday is not holy
Mauro Giuliani’s guitar
Is played
Sonata erotica
I hear it
As I bow down
My head
My right hand
And all five fingers
Supporting
Like five pillars
To this temple
Of an unwashed
Face
Attentive to giuliani’s
Sonata erotica
On a Sunday
I face a road
Sliced by sounds
Of motorcycles
Without any
Silencers
Sonata erotica
Flamenco guitar
Entering my ears
Resting on my head
My guests this
Sunday noon
Flamenco notes
Dancing
With dainty feet
Stamping on
My brain
Erotica on Sundays
Flamenco dancers
In pink
My eyes follow
The hands
And the hips
And the feet
To this surging
Dainty Desires
In a sense
Sleep is a stranger
Whose name
I have yet to
spell.
the face of prayer
is a little bit
sketchy
its eyes
closed
its nose
blocked
by so much
phlegm
i breathe
something
erroneous
to my heart
my sister
the religious
&
the piety
as usual
is angry.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Conquest
Those eyes that set my fancy on a fire,
Those crispéd hairs that hold my heart in chains,
Those dainty hands which conquered my desire,
That wit which of my thoughts doth hold the reins:
Those eyes for clearness do the stars surpass,
Those hairs obscure the brightness of the sun,
Those hands more white than ever ivory was,
That wit even to the skies hath glory won.
O eyes that pierce our hearts without remorse!
O hands that conquer more than Caesar's force!
O wit that turns huge kingdoms upside down!
Then, Love, be judge, what heart may there withstand
Such eyes, such hair, such wit, and such a hand?
poem by Philippe Desportes
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O Singer of the epic war history
O Singer of the epic war history,
O Singer of life, of liberation hoary,
Of brazen battlefields, long desolate,
O Singer of Gita's ageless glory.
Outlived hast the song thine endless story,
Though war heroes survive still in state,
Frustrated of fate but scarce sorry,
O Singer of the epic war history.
Yudhishthir's dharma, Arjun's archery,
Bheeshma's oath, Bhima's bravery,
Scarce confined remain to Pearly Gate,
And sung are with Gita's ageless glory.
And ye O bard, two roles in one carry:
Of poet laureate and progenitor great,
O ye born in a river ferry,
O Singer of the epic war history
Ye sang thine epic in such swell flurry,
Ganesha, if not quite inadequate,
Lost in thought, felt somewhat weary,
O Singer of ancient ageless glory,
Not mine ‘lone, any pen-pusher's worry
‘Tis to try even to translate,
O Singer of the epic war history,
O Singer of ancient ageless glory.
_______________________________________ __
This is a Villanelle a bit way out. The tercet,
that normally becomes a quatrain only in the last
stanza, is here so in all. Also, the first and the third
lines of the first stanza are repeated with some
modifications.
_____________________________________________ ______
- Villanelle | 02.10.11 |
poem by Aniruddha Pathak
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Little White Dainty Daisy Opening Upon Such An Early Morning
little white dainty daisy
too fragile to believe that this
mighty bee
loves her
too young a bud
to open upon an early morning
the hairy bee rushes to take
everything from
dainty daisy
all her nectar
the might and force of the sucking and the sting
are too much
for her taking
upon the ground lies
the purest of all petals
when the sun & winds & clouds finally come
oh, there is so much weeping
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You & Me
Written by: tim james, steven mcclintock, marc mancina and george tobin
Gimme one reason why you look so sad
A heart like yours wasnt made for that
Gimme your hand, Ill pull you through
Gimme some time and I swear to you
Every night
Ill be so close
Every night
Hey dont you know
You and me
Were made to be in love
Dont let them tear us apart
You and me
Were made for love
Baby you know its a matter of fact
I cant stand by when you feel like that
Baby, you know when it comes to love
I got time and thats time enough
Every night
Ill be so close
Every night
Hey dont you know
You and me
Were made to be in love
Dont let them tear us apart
You and me
Youre all I ever need
Look in my eyes cant you see?
You and me were made for love
You can lock your door
You can live alone
You can dim your lights
Disconnect the phone
You can run
But you will live in a lie
You and me
Were made to be in love
You and me
Were made to be in love
Dont let them tear us apart
You and me
Youre all I ever need
Look in my eyes cant you see?
You and me
Were made to be in love
Dont let them tear us apart
You and me
Youre all I ever need
Look in my eyes cant you see?
You and me
Were made to be in love
Dont let them tear us apart
You and me
Youre all I ever need
song performed by by Tiffany
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You And Me
Written by: tim james, steven mcclintock, marc mancina and george tobin
Gimme one reason why you look so sad
A heart like yours wasnt made for that
Gimme your hand, Ill pull you through
Gimme some time and I swear to you
Every night
Ill be so close
Every night
Hey dont you know
You and me
Were made to be in love
Dont let them tear us apart
You and me
Were made for love
Baby you know its a matter of fact
I cant stand by when you feel like that
Baby, you know when it comes to love
I got time and thats time enough
Every night
Ill be so close
Every night
Hey dont you know
You and me
Were made to be in love
Dont let them tear us apart
You and me
Youre all I ever need
Look in my eyes cant you see?
You and me were made for love
You can lock your door
You can live alone
You can dim your lights
Disconnect the phone
You can run
But you will live in a lie
You and me
Were made to be in love
You and me
Were made to be in love
Dont let them tear us apart
You and me
Youre all I ever need
Look in my eyes cant you see?
You and me
Were made to be in love
Dont let them tear us apart
You and me
Youre all I ever need
Look in my eyes cant you see?
You and me
Were made to be in love
Dont let them tear us apart
You and me
Youre all I ever need
song performed by by Tiffany
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Last Descending Overtones
With each descending step I hear the beat
of sacrificial chants of those who know.
The stone is cold and grey beneath my feet.
The pungent smell is damp and bittersweet.
Within these halls the music seems to flow,
with each descending step I hear the beat.
The altar room is secret and discrete,
with eerie chants that truly seem to grow.
The stone is cold and grey beneath my feet.
Author notes -
Villanelle:
A Villanelle is a nineteen-line poem consisting of a very specific rhyming scheme:
aba aba aba aba aba abaa.
The first and the third lines in the first stanza are repeated in alternating order throughout the poem, and appear together in the last couplet (last two lines) .
Form Resource: shadowpoetry.com
My wrists are bound, a feeling of defeat,
a severed heart to feed the gods libido.
With each descending step I hear the beat.
My time has come this act will not repeat,
I hear the chants and see the lamps aglow.
The stone is cold and grey beneath my feet.
My heart becomes the sacrificial meat
as now my life approaches its crescendo.
With each descending step I hear the beat,
the stone is cold and grey beneath my feet.
poem by Amera Andersen
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Ye that do live in pleasures
Ye that do live in pleasures plenty,
and dwell in Music's sweetest Airs,
whose eyes are quick, whose ears are dainty,
not clogg'd with earth or worldly cares,
come sing this song, made in Amphion's praise,
who now is dead, yet you his fame can raise.
Call him again, let him not die,
but live in Music's sweetest breath;
place him in fairest memory,
and let him triumph over death.
O sweetly sung, his living wish attend ye.
These were his words, 'The mirth of heav'n God send ye.'
poem by John Wilbye
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