Analogy
(To ——)
HAD you lived when a tyrant King
Strove to make all the slaves of one,
With Nobles and with Churchmen you
Had stood unflinching, pure and true,
To annihilate that hateful thing
Green Runnymede beat out of John?
Had you lived when a wanton crew,
Flash scoundrels of a day outdone,
Trod down the toilers birth derides,
With Cromwell and his Ironsides
The brave days had discovered you,
Where Naseby saw the Gallants run?
And yet you, — this same knight in list
For Freedom in her narrow dawn
Against that One, against those Few,
Vile King, vile Nobles — you, yet you
Stand by the bloody Capitalist,
Fight with the pander Gentleman!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Four In The Furnace (Bible Poems For Children)
In a far away
land,
Lived a wicked
king.
He prayed to
idols and things.
He told his
people,
Where the idol
stood.
They must pray,
and be good.
Into a furnace,
you will go,
If you, do not bow
low.
Three christian
men, lived there,
Believed in God,
All the way from
Israel they
trod.
Bow, the king,
told them so,
We believe in God,
our answer is no.
Make a fire, hot
as can be.
Who is your God?
We shall see.
Into the furnace,
you will go,
I'll test your God,
then we will know.
In the furnace, the
king saw four.
Quickly, he shouted,
open the door.
Your God is in the
furnace, I see,
I now, resign my
decree.
poem by Heather Burns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Queen Eleanor's Confession
Queene Elianor was a sicke woman,
And afraid that she should dye;
Then she sent for two fryars of France,
To speke with her speedilye.
The king called downe his nobles all,
By one, by two, by three,
'Earl Marshall, Ile go shrive the queene,
And thou shalt wend with mee.'
'A boone, a boone;' quoth Earl Marshall,
And fell on his bended knee;
'That whatsoever Queene Elianor saye,
No harme therof may bee.'
'Ile pawne my landes,' the king then cryd,
'My sceptre, crowne, and all,
That whatsoere Queen Elianor sayes,
No harme therof shall fall.
'Do thou put on a fryars coat,
And Ile put on another;
And we will to Queen Elianor goe,
Like fryar and his brother.'
Thus both attired then they goe:
When they came to Whitehall,
The bells did ring, and the quiristers sing,
And the torches did lighte them all.
When that they came before the queene,
They fell on their bended knee;
'A boone, a boone, our gracious queene,
That you sent so hastilee.'
'Are you two fryars of France,' she sayd,
'As I suppose you bee?
But if you are two Englishe fryars,
You shall hang on the gallowes tree.'
'We are two fryars of France,' they sayd,
'As you suppose we bee;
We have not been at any masse
Sith we came from the sea.'
'The first vile thing that ever I did,
I will to you unfolde;
Earl Marshall had my maidenhed,
Beneath this cloth of golde.'
'Thats a vile sinne,' then sayd the king;
'May God forgive it thee!'
'Amen, amen,' quoth Earl Marshall,
With a heavye heart spake hee.
'The next vile thing that ever I did,
To you Ile not denye;
I made a boxe of poyson strong,
To poison King Henrye.'
'Thats a vile sinne,' then sayd the king,
'May God forgive it thee!'
'Amen, amen,' quoth Earl Marshall;
'And I wish it so may bee.'
'The next vile thing that ever I did,
To you I will discover;
I poysoned fair Rosamonde,
All in fair Woodstocke bower.'
'Thats a vile sinne,' then sayd the king;
'My God forgive it thee!'
'Amen, amen,' quoth Earl Marshall;
'And I wish it so may bee.'
'Do you see yonders little boye,
A tossing of the balle?
That is Earl Marshalls eldest sonne,
And I love him the best of all.
'Do you see yonders little boye,
A catching of the balle?
That is King Henryes youngest sonne,
And I love him the worst of all.
'His head is fashyon'd like a bull,
His nose is like a boare, --'
'No matter for that,' King Henrye cry'd,
'I love him the better therfore.'
The king pulled off his fryars coate,
And appeared all in redde;
She shrieked, and cryd, and wrung her hands,
And sayd she was betrayde.
The king lookt over his left shoulder,
And a grimme look looked hee;
'Earl Marshall,' he sayd, 'but for my oathe,
Or hanged thou shouldst bee.'
poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The King [ I ]
AMONG the sons of Englishmen
Full many feel like real tears,
For, though he reigned but scarcely ten,
He bore the burden many years.
He lived the dead past doubly down,
He shamed, by manliness and truth,
The lies that beat about a crown,
And round a known man in his youth.
For he had lived as men have done
Since Adam’s time, to prove them true.
He proved it in his manhood’s prime,
And to the end, as strong men do.
And so he died, and, ever since,
And on through years the words shall ring:
“He lived a man, he lived a prince,
And died a gentleman and King.”
Unto the friends of his hot youth,
In his wise age, he still was true.
He showed, by steadfastness and truth,
What kings as well as men can do;
Till all was manlike or forgot,
Long years ere he found his release;
He made them loyal who were not,
He won respect, and kept the peace.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The King Of Denmark’s Ride
WORD was brought to the Danish king
(Hurry!)
That the love of his heart lay suffering,
And pin’d for the comfort his voice would bring;
(Oh! ride as though you were flying!)
Better he loves each golden curl
On the brow of that Scandinavian girl
Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl;
And his rose of the isles is dying!
Thirty nobles saddled with speed,
(Hurry!)
Each one mounting a gallant steed
Which he kept for battle and days of need;
(Oh! ride as though you were flying!)
Spurs were struck in the foaming flank;
Worn-out chargers stagger’d and sank;
Bridles were slacken’d, and girths were burst;
But ride as they would, the king rode first,
For his rose of the isles lay dying!
His nobles are beaten, one by one;
(Hurry!)
They have fainted, and falter’d, and homeward gone;
His little fair page now follows alone,
For strength and for courage trying.
The king look’d back at that faithful child;
Wan was the face that answering smil’d;
They passed the drawbridge with clattering din,
Then he dropp’d; and only the king rode in
Where his rose of the isles lay dying!
The king blew a blast on his bugle horn;
(Silence!)
No answer came; but faint and forlorn
An echo return’d on the cold gray morn,
Like the breath of a spirit sighing.
The castle portal stood grimly wide;
None welcom’d the king from that weary ride;
For dead, in the light of the dawning day,
The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay,
Who had yearn’d for his voice while dying!
The panting steed, with a drooping crest,
Stood weary.
The king return’d from her chamber of rest,
The thick sobs choking in his breast;
And, that dumb companion eyeing,
The tears gush’d forth which he strove to check;
He bowed his head on his charger’s neck:
“O steed—that every nerve didst strain,
Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain
To the halls where my love lay dying!”
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
After Court Martial
My mind is not my mind, therefore
I take no heed of what men say,
I lived ten thousand years before
God cursed the town of Nineveh.
The Present is a dream I see
Of horror and loud sufferings,
At dawn a bird will waken me
Unto my place among the kings.
And though men called me a vile name,
And all my dream companions gone,
Tis I the soldier bears the shame,
Not I the king of Babylon.
poem by Francis Ledwidge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Death of William Rufus
The Red King's gone a-hunting, in the woods his father made
For the tall red deer to wander through the thicket and the glade,
The King and Walter Tyrrel, Prince Henry and the rest
Are all gone out upon the sport the Red King loves the best.
Last night, when they were feasting in the royal banquet-hall,
De Breteuil told a dream he had, that evil would befall
If the King should go to-morrow to the hunting of the deer,
And while he spoke, the fiery face grew well-nigh pale to hear.
He drank until the fire came back, and all his heart was brave,
Then bade them keep such woman's tales to tell an English slave,
For he would hunt to-morrow, though a thousand dreams foretold
All the sorrow and the mischief De Breteuil's brain could hold.
So the Red King's gone a-hunting, for all that they could do,
And an arrow in the greenwood made De Breteuil's dream come true.
They said `twas Walter Tyrrel, and so it may have been,
But there's many walk the forest when the leaves are thick and
green.
There's many walk the forest, who would gladly see the sport,
When the King goes out a-hunting with the nobles of his court,
And when the nobles scatter, and the King is left alone,
There are thickets where an English slave might string his bow
unknown.
The forest laws are cruel, and the time is hard as steel
To English slaves, trod down and bruised beneath the Norman heel.
Like worms they writhe, but by-and-by the Norman heel may learn
There are worms that carry poison, and that are not slow to turn.
The lords came back, by one and two, from straying far apart,
And they found the Red King lying with an arrow in his heart.
Who should have done the deed, but him by whom it first was seen?
So they said `twas Walter Tyrrel, and so it may have been.
They cried upon Prince Henry, the brother of the King,
And he came up the greenwood, and rode into the ring.
He looked upon his brother's face, and then he turned away,
And galloped off to Winchester, where all the treasure lay.
`God strike me,' cried De Breteuil, `but brothers' blood is thin!
And why should ours be thicker that are neither kith nor kin?'
They spurred their horses in the flank, and swiftly thence they
passed,
But Walter Tyrrel lingered and forsook his liege the last.
They say it was enchantment, that fixed him to the scene,
To look upon his traitor's work, and so it may have been.
But presently he got to horse, and took the seaward way,
And all alone within the glade, in state the Red King lay.
Then a creaking cart came slowly, which a charcoal-burner drove.
He found the dead man lying, a ghastly treasure-trove;
He raised the corpse for charity, and on his wagon laid,
And so the Red King drove in state from out the forest glade.
His hair was like a yellow flame about the bloated face,
The blood had stained his tunic from the fatal arrow-place.
Not good to look upon was he, in life, nor yet when dead.
The driver of the cart drove on, and never turned his head.
When next the nobles throng at night the royal banquet-hall,
Another King will rule the feast, the drinking and the brawl,
While Walter Tyrrel walks alone upon the Norman shore,
And the Red King in the forest will chase the deer no more.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Belov'd Dad
He lived an honest life always
And passed in poverty, his days;
He spoke for justice with brave face;
To God, he fixed his heart's, mind's gaze!
He lived a simple life on earth
And stood for all that was good, worth;
He knew the reasons for his birth
And did his duty with great mirth!
He left a void that couldn't be filled
And walked the path that was God-willed!
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The King Of Heaven
The King Of Heaven
On the North, the King of Heaven
Is that because the rafter was too short
And broke the prayer
The rafter that holds spheres
On which lived your spirit
No, King of the Heaven
The calligrapher’s hand didn’t make a mistake
Or the eyelids, conceived in sin, gave a birth to note
That there is no a single place in Your home anymore
Why, why, the King
Of Heaven, Who fulfills everything on this world
On the rafter didn’t fulfill your self
Even prayer you did not finish off
On the North
The King of Heaven
In the North flash
Why do you, with heaviness of your spoken word
Out of the time
Temporal being made of me
The time lost
Common, from this tin trumpet
Call the fire
That blossoms the branches through my skeleton
While golden angel flies into my meat
The King
Haay, the King of Heaven
Crack Heaven’s egg
Come on, come on pigeon
Fly out, fly out from the rafter
The light is light as heaven’s song
Borce Panov
poem by Borce Panov
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
William Wallace
(For the Ballarat statue of him)
THIS is Scotch William Wallace. It was He
Who in dark hours first raised his face to see:
Who watched the English tyrant Nobles spurn,
Steel-clad, with iron hoofs the Scottish Free:
Who armed and drilled the simple footman Kern,
Yea, bade in blood and rout the proud Knight learn
His Feudalism was dead, and Scotland stand
Dauntless to wait the day of Bannockburn!
O Wallace, peerless lover of thy land,
We need thee still, thy moulding brain and hand!
For us, thy poor, again proud tyrants spurn,
The robber Rich, a yet more hateful band!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Rise Ye! Rise Ye!
Rise Ye! rise ye! noble toilers! claim your rights with fire and steel!
Rise ye! for the cursed tyrants crush ye with the hiron ’eel!
They would treat ye worse than sl-a-a-ves! they would treat ye worse than brutes!
Rise and crush the selfish tyrants! ku-r-rush them with your hob-nailed boots!
Rise ye rise ye glorious toilers
Rise ye rise ye noble toilers!
Erwake! er-rise!
Rise ye! rise ye! noble toilers! tyrants come across the waves!
Will ye yield the Rights of Labour? will ye? will ye still be sl-a-a-ves?
Rise ye! rise ye! mighty toilers! and revoke the rotten laws!
Lo! your wives go out a-washing while ye battle for the caws!
Rise ye! rise ye glorious toilers!
Rise ye! rise ye noble toilers!
Erwake! er-rise!
Our gerlorious dawn is breaking! Lo! the tyrant trembles now!
He will sta-a-rve us here no longer! toilers will not bend or bow!
Rise ye! rise ye! noble toilers! rise! behold, revenge is near;
See the leaders of the people! come an’ ’ave a pint o’ beer!
Rise ye! rise ye! noble toilers!
Rise ye! rise ye! glorious toilers!
Erwake! er-rise!
Lo! the poor are starved, my brothers! lo! our wives and children weep!
Lo! our women toil to keep us while the toilers are asleep!
Rise ye! rise ye! noble toilers! rise and break the tyrant’s chain!
March ye! march ye! mighty toilers! even to the battle plain!
Rise ye! rise ye! noble toilers!
Rise ye! rise ye! noble toilers!
Erwake! er-r-rise!
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Reeds of Runnymede
Magna Charta, June 15, 1215
At Runnymede, At Runnymede,
What say the reeds at Runnymede?
The lissom reeds that give and take,
That bend so far, but never break,
They keep the sleepy Thames awake
With tales of John at Runnymede.
At Runnymede, at Runnymede,
Oh, hear the reeds at Runnymede:--
"You mustn't sell, delay, deny,
A freeman's right or liberty.
It makes the stubborn Englishry,
We saw 'em roused at Runnymede!
"When through our ranks the Barons came,
With little thought of praise or blame,
But resolute to pay a game,
They lumbered up to Runnymede;
And there they launched in solid time
The first attack on Right Divine--
The curt, uncompromising 'Sign!'
That settled John at Runnymede.
"At Runnymede, at Runnymede,
Your rights were won at Runnymede!
No freeman shall be fined or bound,
Or dispossessed or freehold ground,
Except by lawful judgment found
And passed upon him by his peers.
Forget not, after all these years,
The Charter Signed at Runnymede."
And still when Mob or Monarch lays
Too rude hand on English ways,
The whisper wakes, the shudder plays,
Across the reeds at Runnymede.
And Tames, that knows the moods of kings,
And crowds and priests and suchlike things,
Rolls deep and dreadful as he brings
Their warning down from Runnymede!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
King Of London
Bobby is the ace of hearts
Karen is the queen
Joe is the knight of the working class
With multi-coloured jeans
Ginger and rose work for unicef
Ride around on a tandem
Me I walk on air
Because Im the king of london
Alan lives in bethnal green
His brother gets into fights
Tony lives in billericay
Talks politics every night
Sheila worked for meals on wheels
Until the council made her redundant
Im a self made man
Because Im the king of london
Im the king of london
Im the king of london
Dont need speed to make me run
I can look straight into the sun
Because Im the king of london town
Keith marched for the right to work
Nothing really changed
Man at the bottom was still underground
Face at the top was the same
After all our well made plans
What went wrong I wonder
And Im not allowed to ask questions anyway
Because Im the king of london
Bobby is the ace of hearts
Karen is the queen
Freedom to be who they really are
Is something theyve never seen
Whether they make it whether they break
Or whether they just go under
Im not allowed to surrender anyway
Because Im the king of london
Im the king of london
Im the king of london
Dont need speed to make me run
I can look straight into the sun
Because Im the king of london town
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
King Of London
Bobby is the ace of hearts
Karen is the queen
Joe is the knight of the working class
With multi-coloured jeans
Ginger and rose work for unicef
Ride around on a tandem
Me I walk on air
Because Im the king of london
Alan lives in bethnal green
His brother gets into fights
Tony lives in billericay
Talks politics every night
Sheila worked for meals on wheels
Until the council made her redundant
Im a self made man
Because Im the king of london
Im the king of london
Im the king of london
Dont need speed to make me run
I can look straight into the sun
Because Im the king of london town
Keith marched for the right to work
Nothing really changed
Man at the bottom was still underground
Face at the top was the same
After all our well made plans
What went wrong I wonder
And Im not allowed to ask questions anyway
Because Im the king of london
Bobby is the ace of hearts
Karen is the queen
Freedom to be who they really are
Is something theyve never seen
Whether they make it whether they break
Or whether they just go under
Im not allowed to surrender anyway
Because Im the king of london
Im the king of london
Im the king of london
Dont need speed to make me run
I can look straight into the sun
Because Im the king of london town
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
King
Now is the time to reach for the sky
Gather the wind hear the voice to fly
To know why they sing about heroes and kings
Who were brave and not afraid to die
Look and you'll see that a new day will bring
The will to go on and fight through endless suffering
For all who believe wait a crown a ring
The power of the man who would be king
The power of the man who would be king
Into the fight of hopes and dreams
The master of the wind knows nothing's what is seems
The melting of the soul the wish of those who scheme
The taking of the will by destroyers of the dream
They live to spread the fear of the wrong of right of self
They want us all to live like books upon a shelf
But we know we have the power to fight and make a stand
Strike when we are challenged all across the land to be king
Fight for the crown
song performed by by Manowar from Louder Than Hell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Battle of Flodden Field
'Twas on the 9th of September, a very beautiful day,
That a numerous English army came in grand array,
And pitched their tents on Flodden field so green
In the year of our Lord fifteen hundred and thirteen.
And on the ridge of Braxton hill the Scottish army lay,
All beautifully arrayed, and eager for the fray,
And near by stood their noble king on that eventful day,
With a sad and heavy heart, but in it no dismay.
And around him were his nobles, both in church and state,
And they felt a little dispirited regarding the king's fate;
For the independence of bonnie Scotland was at stake,
And if they lost the battle, many a heart would break.
And as King James viewed the enemy he really wondered,
Because he saw by them he was greatly outnumbered,
And he knew that the struggle would be desperate to the last,
And for Scotland's weal or woe the die was cast.
The silence of the gathered armies was very still
Until some horsemen began to gallop about the brow of the hill,
Then from rank to rank the signal for attack quickly flew,
And each man in haste to his comrade closely drew.
Then the Scottish artillery opened with a fearful cannonade;
But the English army seemed to be not the least afraid,
And they quickly answered them by their cannon on the plain;
While innocent blood did flow, just like a flood of rain.
But the artillery practice very soon did cease,
Then foe met foe foot to foot, and the havoc did increase,
And, with a wild slogan cry, the Highlanders bounded down the hill,
And many of the English vanguard, with their claymores, they did kill.
Then, taken by surprise and the suddenness of the attack,
The vanguard of the English army instantly fell back,
But rallied again immediately-- to be beaten back once more,
Whilst beneath the Highlanders' claymores they fell by the score.
But a large body of horsemen came to the rescue,
And the wing of the Scottish army they soon did subdue;
Then swords and spears clashed on every side around,
While the still air was filled with a death-wailing sound.
Then King James thought he'd strike an effective blow-
So he ordered his bodyguard to the plain below,
And all the nobles that were in his train,
To engage the foe hand to hand on that bloody plain.
And to them the din of battle was only a shout of glory:
But for their noble king they felt a little sorry,
Because they knew he was sacrificing a strong position,
Which was to his army a very great acquisition.
But King James was resolved to have his own will,
And he wouldn't allow the English to come up the hill,
Because he thought he wasn't matching himself equally against the foe;
So the nobles agreed to follow their leader for weal or woe.
'Twas then they plunged down into the thick of the fight,
And the king fought like a lion with all his might;
And in his cause he saw his nobles falling on every side around,
While he himself had received a very severe wound.
And the English archers were pouring in their shafts like hail
And swords and spears were shivered against coats of mail,
And the king was manfully engaged contesting every inch of ground,
While the cries of the dying ascended up to heaven with a pitiful sound.
And still around the king the battle fiercely raged,
While his devoted followers were hotly engaged,
And the dead and the dying were piled high all around,
And alas! the brave king had received the second wound.
The Scottish army was composed of men from various northern isles,
Who had travelled, no doubt, hundreds of miles;
And with hunger and fatigue many were like to faint,
But the brave heroes uttered no complaint.
And heroically they fought that day on behalf of their king,
Whilst around him they formed a solid ring;
And the king was the hero of the fight,
Cutting, hacking, and slashing left and right.
But alas! they were not proof against the weapons of the foe,
Which filled their hearts with despair and woe;
And, not able to maintain their close form, they were beaten back,
And Lennox and Argyle, their leaders, were slain, alack!
And the field became so slippery with blood they could scarcely stand,
But in their stocking-feet they fought hand to hand,
And on both sides men fell like wheat before the mower,
While the cheers from both armies made a hideous roar.
Then King James he waved his sword on high,
And cried, "Scotsmen, forward! and make the Saxons fly;
And remember Scotland's independence is at stake,
So charge them boldly for Scotland's sake."
So grooms, lords, and knights fought all alike,
And hard blows for bonnie Scotland they did strike,
And swords and spears loudly did clatter,
And innocent blood did flow like water.
But alas! the king and his nobles fought in vain,
And by an English billman the king was slain;
Then a mighty cheer from the English told Scotland's power had fled,
And King James the Fourth of Scotland, alas! was dead!
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Soldier's King
None seemed to notice the man beside the road
He was just a raged soldier out there in the cold
But he seemed to have a purpose only known to him
As he walked along the streets that night through the town of Bethlahem.
In his head he held a memory of all the wars he'd known
In his hand he clutched a medal for the bravery he'd shown
And the weight of every battle he caried in his heart
But his eyes were clear and searching for a manger in the dark.
Chorus:
Some are born to greatness, some are born to fall
Some are bound to be forgotten like they never lived at all
But we're all born to know Him and stand befor His light
Like the soldier who found his king tonight.
He had marched for politicians, served under their command
And he fought for all the causes that he did not understand
But it was something deep inside him now that led him on his way
With a single star to guide him to were the baby lay.
Chorus:
Some are born to greatness, some are born to fall
Some are bound to be forgotten like they never lived at all
But we're all born to know Him and stand befor His light
Like the soldier who found his king tonight.
He stood before the Son of God, come to pay our debt
He smiled up at the soldier that the world would soon forget
So he held out his medal and said this for you I bring
There he swore aligiance to the newborn baby King.
Chorus:
Some are born to greatness, some are born to fall
Some are bound to be forgotten like they never lived at all
But we're all born to know Him and stand befor His light
Like the soldier who found his king tonight...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Glove and The Lions
King Francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport,
And one day as his lions fought, sat looking on the court;
The nobles filled the benches, and the ladies in their pride,
And 'mongst them sat the Count de Lorge, with one for whom he sighed:
And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show,
Valour and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below.
Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws;
They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws;
With wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled on one another;
Till all the pit with sand and mane was in a thunderous smother;
The bloody foam above the bars came whisking through the air;
Said Francis then, "Faith, gentlemen, we're better here than there."
De Lorge's love o'erheard the King, a beauteous lively dame
With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which always seemed the same;
She thought, the Count my lover is brave as brave can be;
He surely would do wondrous things to show his love of me;
King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is divine;
I'll drop my glove, to prove his love; great glory will be mine.
She dropped her glove, to prove his love, then looked at him and smiled;
He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild:
The leap was quick, return was quick, he has regained his place,
Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face.
"By God!" said Francis, "rightly done!" and he rose from where he sat:
"No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that."
poem by James Henry Leigh Hunt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
If I Lived One More LIfe... I Would
If I lived one more life
I would melt by the gentle sight of you
I would believe that your love is true
I would erase my fake intention
I would hold back all my foolish emotion
If I lived one more life
I would read all yr colorful envelopes
I would never burn your words of hopes
I would cherish your banner on the wall
I would make sure it will never fall
If I lived one more life
I would pick up your call night & days
I would guarantee your mind not decays
I would let my door open at all time
I would safe your sanity to prevent any crime
If I lived one more life
I would stand before you on my knee
I would beg your family to forgive me
I would plead to share your torture
I would fight to bring back your future
If I lived one more life
I would endure all your hate
I would accept you as my fate
I would strive to give you the best of me
I would die in your arms and be happy
If I lived one more life … I would
Dedicated to D.N.R – It’s been 14 years… This is my apology, I mean every word.
poem by Niken Kusuma Wardani
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The King of our Republic
He is coming! He is coming! without heralds, without cheers.
He is coming! He is coming! and he’s been with us for years:
And, if you should pause to wonder who’s the man of whom I sing—
’Tis the King of our Republic, and the man we shall call King.
No, he comes not to amuse us, and he comes not to explain,
With the bathos of the old things over all the land again.
The debatable and tangled, and the vain imagining
Shall be swept out of our pathway by the man that we’ll call King.
He is coming! He is coming! He has heard our spirit call;
He’ll be greatest man since Cromwell in the English nations all,
And he’ll take his place amongst us while the rest are wondering—
Shall the King of our Republic, and the man we will call King.
If you find him stern, unyielding, where his living task is set,
I have told you that a tyrant shall uplift the nation yet;
He will place his country’s welfare over all and everything,
Shall the King of our Republic, and the man that we’ll call King.
Yet his heart shall still be gentle with his brothers gone astray,
For the Great Man of Australia shall be simple in his day—
Modest, kindly, but unyielding, while the watching world shall ring
With the name of our Republic and the man that we call King.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Red Velvet Sacks And Elephants
Troubled times are here
Pagan Min is King,
he's a tyrant and insane,
and capable of anything.
He fears losing his crown,
so he's killing all his kin.
Assassin's are his only friends
and they murder for him.
In red velvet sacks,
the royal family were tied
for elephants to trample them
until no one cried.
This cardinal sin against Buddha
did his insanity no good.
So the assassins were executed
for spilling their blood.
He was haunted by the dead,
who at night arose,
which worsened his insanity
so he was deposed.
His brother Mindon who fled Burma
lived across the border in Siam,
as a guest of King Nang Klao,
and later Mongkut, a religious man.
Mongkut of Siam and Mindon of Burma,
Kings and good friends they became.
Mindon brought wealth and prosperity to Burma,
but hindered Britain throughout his reign.
However, the fortunes of this country
were seized by the next tyrant king.
Prince Theebaw's seizure of the thrown
led to more velvet sacks and killing.
He and his wife's greed for territory and slaves
caused the British to declare war.
Many soldiers were killed by jungle fever,
however, the deposed king ruled no more.
poem by Tex T Sarnie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!