To Lydia
When, Lydia, you (once fond and true,
But now grown cold and supercilious)
Praise Telly's charms of neck and arms--
Well, by the dog! it makes me bilious!
Then with despite my cheeks wax white,
My doddering brain gets weak and giddy,
My eyes o'erflow with tears which show
That passion melts my vitals, Liddy!
Deny, false jade, your escapade,
And, lo! your wounded shoulders show it!
No manly spark left such a mark--
Leastwise he surely was no poet!
With savage buss did Telephus
Abraid your lips, so plump and mellow;
As you would save what Venus gave,
I charge you shun that awkward fellow!
And now I say thrice happy they
That call on Hymen to requite 'em;
For, though love cools, the wedded fools
Must cleave till death doth disunite 'em.
poem by Eugene Field
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Related quotes
Lydia Dick
When I was a boy at college,
Filling up with classic knowledge,
Frequently I wondered why
Old Professor Demas Bently
Used to praise so eloquently
'Opera Horatii.'
Toiling on a season longer
Till my reasoning power got stronger,
As my observation grew,
I became convinced that mellow,
Massic-loving poet fellow
Horace knew a thing or two
Yes, we sophomores figured duly
That, if we appraised him truly,
Horace must have been a brick;
And no wonder that with ranting
Rhymes he went a-gallivanting
Round with sprightly Lydia Dick!
For that pink of female gender
Tall and shapely was, and slender,
Plump of neck and bust and arms;
While the raiment that invested
Her so jealously suggested
Certain more potential charms.
Those dark eyes of her that fired him--
Those sweet accents that inspired him,
And her crown of glorious hair--
These things baffle my description;
I should have a fit conniption
If I tried--so I forbear!
May be Lydia had her betters;
Anyway, this man of letters
Took that charmer as his pick;
Glad--yes, glad I am to know it!
I, a fin de siecle poet,
Sympathize with Lydia Dick!
Often in my arbor shady
I fall thinking of that lady
And the pranks she used to play;
And I'm cheered--for all we sages
Joy when from those distant ages
Lydia dances down our way.
Otherwise some folks might wonder
With good reason why in thunder
Learned professors, dry and prim,
Find such solace in the giddy
Pranks that Horace played with Liddy
Or that Liddy played on him.
Still this world of ours rejoices
In those ancient singing voices,
And our hearts beat high and quick,
To the cadence of old Tiber
Murmuring praise of roistering Liber
And of charming Lydia Dick.
Still, Digentia, downward flowing,
Prattleth to the roses blowing
By the dark, deserted grot;
Still, Soracte, looming lonely,
Watcheth for the coming only
Of a ghost that cometh not.
poem by Eugene Field
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Let Me In
Let me in, inside of you
With my love let it soothe
Taking you up, and lying you down
Riding with you all around.
Let me in, inside of you
The voice I heard it speak
I'll tell you things, you never known
And places you've always wished.
I'll tell you things no one knows
Places only I have seen
I'll show you how true loves grows
And what makes all man weak.
Then I'll tell you why women cry
For the love, they'll soon deny
Then I'll show you love inside of us
That's always been out of sight.
Let me in - inside of you
I'll show you many things
I'll show you champions, I'll show you kings
While I'm inside your dreams,
I'll be with you every night
Answers to you I will give
I will show you love, then I'll show you hate
I'll show you love so true
Then I'll tell you why, lovers cry
If you let me; inside of you..
poem by Randy McClave
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They Can Only Drag You Down
Leader, poet, singer, artist, who have struggled long and won,
Though the climbing is behind you, now the battle has begun,
Shut your ears unto the empty parrot phrases of the town,
Shun the hand-grips of your rivals, they can only drag you down.
See the bush or quiet chamber, work – for you have work to do,
Though the city shall be lighted and the table spread for you –
Work through ease and pleasure call you, work when you have care to drown,
Shun the wine-cup like a serpent, it can only drag you down.
And the star eyes and the red lips, luring ever to a wreck,
And the beauty of the white arms clinging closely round your neck!
Golden head thrown back and white arms clinging closer when you frown,
Tear them from your neck if need be – they can only drag you down.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Inside Of You
let me in, inside of you
With my love let it soothe,
By taking you up, and lying you down,
Riding with you all around.
Let me in, inside of you,
The voice I heard it speak
I'll tell you things you've never known
And take you places you always wished.
I'll tell you things no one knows
And the places only I have seen,
Then I'll show you how, true love grows;
And what makes all men weak.
I'l tell you why, women cry
For the love they'll soon deny
Then I'll show you love inside of us,
That has always been out of sight.
Let me in, inside of you
And I will show you many things
I will show you champions
Then I will show you kings,
While I am inside your dreams.
Then I will be with you every night
Answers to you, I will give
I will show you love
And I will show you hate
Then I will show you a love so true.
Then I will tell you why, lovers cry,
If you will let me; inside of you.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Hidden Charms
Her lips are sweet
Her legs are big
Her looks can make you
Dance the jig
Her touch is so soft
Her heart is so warm
What knocks me out
Is your hidden charms
Her voice is so soft
Her love is so true
I think about her
Thats all I do
Shes weak and wanton
In my arms
What moves me darling
Is your hidden charms
When I hold you
In my arms
Brings out all of your
Hidden charms
Her kiss is so pure
As the morning dew
A real gone love
Is exciting too
Her eyes that talk
They say cmon
What kills me baby
Is your hidden charms
When I hold you
In my arms
Brings out all of your
Hidden charms
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Another Horror Movie
who wants to show pain?
no one wants to show it and be pitied
pity can kill
makes you shrink like a chunk of sugar into some tears
everyone wants to show a happy face in the road
people walk and smiles everyone
and when the back goes a distance
everyone is back to their serious faces again
twisted lips, crashing teeth
misshaped jaws
one time that night
i show pain in the mirror
the mirror laughs
it is telling me it is not me
and i look funny with it
it says i do not fit well as a beggar of affection
it teases me
that when in pain i look like a liar
an old Pinocchio
with a broken wooden nose
reaching the door from the comfort room
i insist that this time it is true
my tears are rolling like a river on the tributaries of my cheeks
the mirror
finally screams
i am another movie.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Her Beauty
Her true beauty leaves behind
Apprehensions in my mind
Of more sweetness than all art
Or inventions can impart;
Thoughts too deep to be expressed,
And too strong to be suppressed....
... What pearls, what rubies can
Seem so lovely fair to man,
As her lips whom he doth love
When in sweet discourse they move:
Or her lovelier teeth, the while
She doth bless him with a smile!
Stars indeed fair creatures be;
Yet amongst us where is he
Joys not more the whilst he lies
Sunning in his mistress' eyes.
Than in all the glimmering light
Of a starry winter's night?
Note the beauty of an eye,
And if aught you praise it by
Leave such passion in your mind,
Let my reason's eye be blind.
Mark if ever red or white
Anywhere gave such delight
As when they have taken place
In a worthy woman's face.
poem by George Wither
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The Indifferent
I CAN love both fair and brown;
Her whom abundance melts, and her whom want betrays;
Her who loves loneness best, and her who masks and plays;
Her whom the country form'd, and whom the town;
Her who believes, and her who tries;
Her who still weeps with spongy eyes,
And her who is dry cork, and never cries.
I can love her, and her, and you, and you;
I can love any, so she be not true.
Will no other vice content you?
Will it not serve your turn to do as did your mothers?
Or have you all old vices spent, and now would find out others?
Or doth a fear that men are true torment you?
O we are not, be not you so;
Let me—and do you—twenty know;
Rob me, but bind me not, and let me go.
Must I, who came to travel thorough you,
Grow your fix'd subject, because you are true?
Venus heard me sigh this song;
And by love's sweetest part, variety, she swore,
She heard not this till now; and that it should be so no more.
She went, examined, and return'd ere long,
And said, "Alas ! some two or three
Poor heretics in love there be,
Which think to stablish dangerous constancy.
But I have told them, 'Since you will be true,
You shall be true to them who're false to you.' "
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Echoes Of Love's House
Love gives every gift whereby we long to live
“Love takes every gift, and nothing back doth give.”
Love unlocks the lips that else were ever dumb:
“Love locks up the lips whence all things good might come.”
Love makes clear the eyes that else would never see:
“Love makes blind the eyes to all but me and thee.”
Love turns life to joy till nought is left to gain:
“Love turns life to woe till hope is nought and vain.”
Love, who changest all, change me nevermore!
“Love, who changest all, change my sorrow sore!”
Love burns up the world to changeless heaven and blest,
“Love burns up the world to a void of all unrest.”
And there we twain are left, and no more work we need:
“And I am left alone, and who my work shall heed?”
Ah! I praise thee, Love, for utter joyance won!
“And is my praise nought worth for all my life undone?”
poem by William Morris
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At Deaths Door
When they have a short time to live
And you’ve given all you can give.
When there s nothing more you can do.
Then you make the last days of their lives
Seem like it’s been paradise.
Show all the love that you’ve had locked up inside
This is something that you should not hide.
Bring up happy memories of times
gone by, and of moments shared.
These are things in their mind that last.
Make their lives as comfortable as can be
For this is the last thing that they will see.
For some it is not easy to pass to the other side
Because fear makes them blind.
But it is a place of love and light
They will not see the darkness of night.
Don’t show your love when they are dead
Show your love while they’re lying in that bed.
They need to be loved while they’re here on earth
This is what we crave from our birth.
If the brain still functions on its own
Then so does the heart.
And from you they do not wish to part.
They are thinking the same as you
When they’re gone, what are you going to do.
Any bills that may be left behind
On your shoulders they will climb.
these same thoughts may race through
Your head, and it’s something that you both do dread.
But these are the first thoughts that
Should be put into that grave
Give them happy memories that they can save.
Let them go to the other side comfortably
And on their face- that smile you’ll see.
We’ll all be going to that other side
And will need someone to welcome us there
And the love that you showed on earth
Will now be shared.
poem by Louis Rams
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Sonnet 77: Those Looks, Whose Beams Be Joy
Those looks, whose beams be joy, whose motion is delight,
That face, whose lecture shows what perfect beauty is:
That presence, which doth give dark hearts a living light:
That grace, which Venus weeps that she herself doth miss:
That hand, which without touch holds more than Atlas might:
Those lips, which make death's pay a mean price for a kiss:
That skin, skin, whose passe-praise hue scorns this poor term of white:
Those words, which do sublime the quintessence of bliss:
That voice, which makes the soul plant himself in the ears:
That conversation sweet, where such high comforts be,
As constru'd in true speech, the name of heav'n it bears,
Makes me in my best thought and quiet'st judgment see,
That in no more but these I might be fully blest:
Yet ah, my maiden Muse doth blush to tell the rest.
poem by Philip Sidney
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At the "J. C."
None ever knew his name,
Honoured, or one of shame,
Highborn or lowly;
Only upon that tree
Two letters, J and C,
Carved by him, mark where he
Lay dying slowly.
Why came he to the West?
Had then the parent nest
Grown so distasteful?
What cause had he to shun
Life, ere ‘twas well begun?
Was he that youngest son,
Of substance wasteful?
Were Fate and he at War?
Was it a pennance, or
Renunciation?
Is it a glad release?
Has he at length found peace,
Now Death hath bid him cease
Peregrination?
Hands white, without a blot,
Told us that he was not
One of “the vulgar.”
What can those cyphers be?
Two only, J and C.
Carved in his agony
Deep in the mulga.
Was there no woman’s face
Whose sunny smile might chase
Clouds from above him?
No bosom white as snow?
No lips to whisper low,
“Why doth he seek to go?
Do I not love him.”
Haunted by flashing charms -
White bosoms, rounded arms,
Lips of fair ladies,
Striving to break some link,
Was ‘t that which made him sink,
Dragged by the curse of drink
Deeper than Hades?
Now, the wind across the grave,
Tuning a sultry stave,
Drearily whistles,
Stirring those branches where
Two silent cyphers stare,
Two letters of a prayer,
God’s Son’s initials.
poem by Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
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Sonnet 90: Stella, Think Not That I
Stella, think not that I by verse seek fame,
Who seek, who hope, who love, who live but thee;
Thine eyes my pride, thy lips my history:
If thou praise not, all other praise is shame.
Nor so ambitious am I, as to frame
A nest for praise in my young laurel tree:
In truth I swear, I wish not there should be
Grav'd in mine epitaph a poet's name:
Ne if I would, could I just title make,
That any laud to me thereof should grow,
Without my plumes from others' wings I take.
For nothing from my wit or will doth flow,
Since all my words thy beauty doth indite,
And Love doth hold my hand, and makes me write.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Elegy XVI: The Expostulation
TO make the doubt clear, that no woman's true,
Was it my fate to prove it strong in you?
Thought I, but one had breathèd purest air ;
And must she needs be false, because she's fair?
Is it your beauty's mark, or of your youth,
Or your perfection, not to study truth?
Or think you heaven is deaf, or hath no eyes?
Or those it hath smile at your perjuries?
Are vows so cheap with women, or the matter
Whereof they're made, that they are writ in water,
And blown away with wind? Or doth their breath
Both hot and cold, at once make life and death?
Who could have thought so many accents sweet
Form'd into words, so may sighs should meet
As from our hearts, so many oaths, and tears
Sprinkled among, all sweeten'd by our fears,
And the divine impression of stolen kisses,
That seal'd the rest, should now prove empty blisses?
Did you draw bonds to forfeit? sign to break?
Or must we read you quite from what you speak,
And find the truth out the wrong way? or must
He first desire you false, would wish you just?
O ! I profane ! though most of women be
This kind of beast, my thoughts shall except thee,
My dearest love ; though froward jealousy
With circumstance might urge thy inconstancy,
Sooner I'll think the sun will cease to cheer
The teeming earth, and that forget to bear ;
Sooner that rivers will run back, or Thames
With ribs of ice in June will bind his streams ;
Or nature, by whose strength the world endures,
Would change her course, before you alter yours.
But O ! that treacherous breast, to whom weak you
Did drift our counsels, and we both may rue,
Having his falsehood found too late ; 'twas he
That made me cast you guilty, and you me ;
Whilst he, black wretch, betray'd each simple word
We spake, unto the cunning of a third.
Cursed may he be, that so our love hath slain,
And wander on the earth, wretched as Cain,
Wretched as he, and not deserve least pity.
In plaguing him, let misery be witty ;
Let all eyes shun him, and he shun each eye,
Till he be noisome as his infamy ;
May he without remorse deny God thrice,
And not be trusted more on his soul's price ;
And, after all self-torment, when he dies,
May wolves tear out his heart, vultures his eyes,
Swine eat his bowels, and his falser tongue
That utter'd all, be to some raven flung ;
And let his carrion corse be a longer feast
To the king's dogs, than any other beast.
Now have I cursed, let us our love revive ;
In me the flame was never more alive.
I could begin again to court and praise,
And in that pleasure lengthen the short days
Of my life's lease ; like painters that do take
Delight, not in made work, but whiles they make.
I could renew those times, when first I saw
Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the law
To like what you liked ; and at masks and plays
Commend the self-same actors, the same ways ;
Ask how you did, and often with intent
Of being officious, be impertinent ;
All which were such soft pastimes, as in these
Love was as subtly catch'd as a disease.
But being got, it is a treasure sweet,
Which to defend is harder than to get ;
And ought not be profaned, on either part,
For though 'tis got by chance, 'tis kept by art.
poem by John Donne
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Big Head
ft. Timbaland
[Intro - Timbaland]
One time *freak freaky* uh uhm
Two time *ah two* uh uhm
Three time *uh uh* uh uhm
*freaky* four times *freaky* Ms. Jade
[Verse 1 - Ms. Jade (Ms. Jade singing)]
Ain't no other girl girl
Rub it in for the whole world world
Make it my du-ty
Try'n show off thinkin they can move me
(Here we go again) one time
(Never take me off my grind)
and I do it true true
Do me is my number one rule rule
Look I'm grown grown
Haters I'm leavin 'em long gone gone
Got 'em with they (hands up high)
Twisted at the bar I'm feelin (all right)
Show 'em (what they need to ride)
Dancin til they feet hurtin (all night)
cause I stack cheese cheese
I'm whatever its gonna be be
Uh
song performed by by Ms. Jade from Girl Interrupted
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Horace and Lydia Reconciled
HORACE
When you were mine in auld lang syne,
And when none else your charms might ogle,
I'll not deny,
Fair nymph, that I
Was happier than a Persian mogul.
LYDIA
Before she came--that rival flame!--
(Was ever female creature sillier?)
In those good times,
Bepraised in rhymes,
I was more famed than Mother Ilia!
HORACE
Chloe of Thrace! With what a grace
Does she at song or harp employ her!
I'd gladly die
If only I
Might live forever to enjoy her!
LYDIA
My Sybaris so noble is
That, by the gods! I love him madly--
That I might save
Him from the grave
I'd give my life, and give it gladly!
HORACE
What if ma belle from favor fell,
And I made up my mind to shake her,
Would Lydia, then,
Come back again
And to her quondam flame betake her?
LYDIA
My other beau should surely go,
And you alone should find me gracious;
For no one slings
Such odes and things
As does the lauriger Horatius!
poem by Eugene Field
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Prologue To Western Australia
Nor gold, nor silver are the words set here,
Nor rich-wrought chasing on design of art;
But rugged relics of an unknown sphere
Where fortune chanced I played one time apart.
Unthought of here the critic blame or praise,
These recollections all their faults atone;
To hold the scenes, I’ve writ of men and ways
Uncouth and rough as Austral ironstone.
It may be, I have left the higher gleams
Of skies and flowers unheeded or forgot;
It may be so,— but, looking back, it seems
When I was with, them I beheld them not.
I was no rambling poet, but a man
Hard pressed to dig and delve, with naught of ease
The hot day through, save when the evening's fan
Of sea-winds rustled through the kindly trees.
It may be so; but when I think I smile
At my poor hand and brain to paint the charms
Of God’ s first-blazoned canvas! here the aisle
Moonlit and deep of reaching gothic arms
From towering gum, mahogany, and palm,
And odorous jam and sandal; there the growth
Of arm-long velvet leaves grown hoar in calm,—
In calm unbroken since their luscious youth.
How can I show you all the silent birds
With strange metallic glintings on the wing ?
Or how tell half their sadness in cold words,—
The poor dumb lutes, the birds that never sing?
Of wondrous parrot-greens and iris hue
Of sensuous flower and of gleaming snake,—
Ah! what I see I long that so might you,
But of these things what picture can I make?
Sometime, maybe, a man will wander there,—
A mind God-gifted, and not dull and weak;
And he will come and paint that land so fair,
And show the beauties of which I but speak.
But in the hard, sad days that there I spent,
My mind absorbed rude pictures: these I show
As best I may, and just with this intent,—
To tell some things that all folk may not know.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Ninth Ode of the Third Book of Horace
Horace.
While I was your beloved one,
And while no other youth threw his fond arms around
Your white neck so easily,
Than the King of the world I was far happier.
Lydia..
While you loved not another one,
While you did not prefer Chloë to Lydia,
I then thought myself happier
Than the mother of Rome, great Rhea Silvia.
Horace..
Thracian Chloë now governs me,
She can merrily sing, playing the cithara;
I'd not scruple to die for her,
If the Implacable spared Chloë, the auburn haired.
Lydia.
I now love and am loved again,
By my Calaïs, son of the old Ornytus;
Twice I'd die for him willingly,
If the terrible fates spared but my Calaïs.
Horace.
What if love should return again,
And unite us by ties more indissoluble?
What if Chloë were cast away,
And the long-closed door open to Lydia?
Lydia.
My love's brighter than any star;
You, too, lighter than cork, tossed on the waves of the Hadriatic so terrible;
Still I'd live but with thee, and I could die with thee.
poem by James Clerk Maxwell
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The Hard Way
Show a little inspiration
Show a little spark
Show the things that drew me to you
And stole my heart
And tell me something I dont know
Instead of everything I do
And look at me as if I mean
Something to you
Our hearts are beating while we sleep
But while were wide awake
You know the world wont stop
And actions speak louder
Listen to your heart
To what your heart might say
Everything we got
We got the hard way
Show a little passion baby
Show a little style
Show the knack for knowing when
And the gift for knowing how
And have a little trust in us
When fear obscures the path
You know we got this far darling
Not by luck
But by never turning back
Some will call on destiny
But I just call on faith
That the world wont stop
And actions speak louder
Listen to your heart
To what your heart might say
Everything you got
You got the hard way
Caught up in our little lives
Theres not a lot left over
I see whats missing in your eyes
Youre searching for that
Field of clover
So show a little inspiration
Show a little spark
Show the world a little light
When you show it your heart
Weve got two lives
One were given
And the other one we make
And the world wont stop
And actions speak louder
Listen to your heart
And your heart might say
Everything we got
We got the hard way
(everything we got we got the hard way)
Everything we got
We got the hard way
(because the world wont stop)
Hang on baby
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Child My Choice
Let folly praise that fancy loves, I praise and love that Child
Whose heart no thought, whose tongue no word, whose hand no deed defiled.
I praise Him most, I love Him best, all praise and love is His;
While Him I love, in Him I live, and cannot live amiss.
Love's sweetest mark, laud's highest theme, man's most desired light,
To love Him life, to leave Him death, to live in Him delight.
He mine by gift, I His by debt, thus each to other due;
First friend He was, best friend He is, all times will try Him true.
Though young, yet wise; though small, yet strong; though man, yet God He is:
As wise, He knows; as strong, He can; as God, He loves to bless.
His knowledge rules, His strength defends, His love doth cherish all;
His birth our joy, His life our light, His death our end of thrall.
Alas! He weeps, He sighs, He pants, yet do His angels sing;
Out of His tears, His sighs and throbs, doth bud a joyful spring.
Almighty Babe, whose tender arms can force all foes to fly,
Correct my faults, protect my life, direct me when I die!
poem by Robert Southwell
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