Balade
HYD, Absolon, thy gilte tresses clere;
Ester, ley thou thy meknesse al a-doun;
Hyd, Jonathas, al thy frendly manere;
Penalopee, and Marcia Catoun,
Mak of your wyfhod no comparisoun;
Hyde ye your beautes, Isoude and Eleyne;
My lady cometh, that al this may disteyne.
Thy faire body, lat hit nat appere,
Lavyne; and thou, Lucresse of Rome toun,
And Polixene, that boghten love so dere,
And Cleopatre, with al thy passioun,
Hyde ye your trouthe of love and your renoun;
And thou, Tisbe, that hast of love swich peyne;
My lady cometh, that al this may disteyne.
Herro, Dido, Laudomia, alle y-fere,
And Phyllis, hanging for thy Demophoun,
And Canace, espyed by thy chere,
Ysiphile, betraysed with Jasoun,
Maketh of your trouthe neyther boost ne soun;
Nor Ypermistre or Adriane, ye tweyne;
My lady cometh, that al this may distevne.
poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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Related quotes
Love
1 Canst thou love me, lady?
2 I've not learn'd to woo:
3 Thou art on the shady
4 Side of sixty too.
5 Still I love thee dearly!
6 Thou hast lands and pelf:
7 But I love thee merely
8 Merely for thyself.
9 Wilt thou love me, fairest?
10 Though thou art not fair;
11 And I think thou wearest
12 Someone-else's hair.
13 Thou could'st love, though, dearly:
14 And, as I am told,
15 Thou art very nearly
16 Worth thy weight, in gold.
17 Dost thou love me, sweet love?
18 Tell me that thou dost!
19 Women fairly beat one,
20 But I think thou must.
21 Thou art loved so dearly:
22 I am plain, but then
23 Thou (to speak sincerely)
24 Art as plain again.
25 Love me, bashful fairy!
26 I've an empty purse:
27 And I've 'moods,' which vary;
28 Mostly for the worse.
29 Still, I love thee dearly:
30 Though I make (I feel)
31 Love a little queerly,
32 I'm as true as steel.
33 Love me, swear to love me
34 (As, you know, they do)
35 By yon heaven above me
36 And its changeless blue.
37 Love me, lady, dearly,
38 If you'll be so good;
39 Though I don't see clearly
40 On what ground you should.
41 Love me -- ah or love me
42 Not, but be my bride!
43 Do not simply shove me
44 (So to speak) aside!
45 P'raps it would be dearly
46 Purchased at the price;
47 But a hundred yearly
48 Would be very nice.
poem by Charles Stuart Calverley
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Little Lady Love
Oh yeah x 5
Chorus
Im little lady love
Ive been touched from above
And you just cant get enough
Of little lady love
Chorus
Im little lady love
Ive been touched from above
And you just cant get enough
Of little lady love
We maybe young
But only for a while
I may look brave
But boy thats just my style
Taken from my teens
But feeding from the tears
Falling with the love
Ive holding back the years
Chorus
Im little lady love
Ive been touched from above
And you just cant get enough
Of little lady love
The miracle of love
Is something Ive observed
And speaking for myself
Is something Ill preserve
Until I feel my way
Along the sticky road
Ill save the miracle
Im gonna take it slow
Chorus
Im little lady love
Ive been touched from above
And you just cant get enough
Of little lady love
Lady love, lady love
Lady love, lady love
Lady love, lady love
Lady love, lady love, love
I think Ive been seperate
Makes it so desperate
I think Ill moderate
Better to wait, its favourite
Chorus
Im little lady love
Ive been touched from above
And you just cant get enough
Of little lady love
Im little lady love
Ive been touched from above
And you just cant get enough
Of little lady love
Lady love, lady love
Ive been touched from above
And you just cant get enough
Of little lady love
Chorus
Im little lady love
Ive been touched from above
And you just cant get enough
Of little lady love
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah x2
song performed by by Sugababes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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O' Murderous Poverty
O' poverty, thou hast made man prostrate his soul for repast
Thou hast made him swallow the bitter pills of living
Yet thou sing songs of death to his hearing
O' murderous poverty, thou art cruel and fiend.
In thy bosom cometh suffering, pains and sorrows
Thou taketh delight when the world's burden heaped upon man
Man toil in vain for subsistence from sunrise to sunset
Yet thou castigate him with thy unseen wand
O' murderous poverty, thou art cruel and fiend.
Man roams about the street with no shoes for his feet
And with no vest upon his already worn out bones
Having his repast from the table crumbs of other folks
Not certain of where the next crumbs of survival cometh
Yet you castigate him with thy unseen wand
O' murderous poverty, thou art cruel and fiend.
His offspring sick and pale then die ere his face
His heart become a place where dirge and elegy meet
And he ask 'Poverty, why thou puncture the tube of my happiness?
Why art thou the architect of man's sorrows and grieves'.
Yet thou castigate him with thy unseen wand
O' murderous poverty, thou art cruel, cruel, cruel even fiend.
poem by Lightcheerful Briggs
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Onn Oure Ladies Chyrche
AS onn a hylle one eve sittynge,
At oure Ladie's Chyrche mouche wonderynge,
The counynge handieworke so fyne,
Han well nighe dazeled mine eyne;
Quod I; some counynge fairie hande
Yreer'd this chapelle in this lande;
Full well I wote so fine a syghte
Was ne yreer'd of mortall wighte.
Quod Trouthe; thou lackest knowlachynge;
Thou forsoth ne wotteth of the thynge.
A Rev'rend Fadre, William Canynge hight,
Yreered uppe this chapelle brighte;
And eke another in the Towne,
Where glassie bubblynge Trymme doth roun.
Quod I; ne doubte for all he's given
His sowle will certes goe to heaven.
Yea, quod Trouthe; than goe thou home,
And see thou doe as hee hath donne.
Quod I; I doubt; that can ne bee;
I have ne gotten markes three.
Quod Trouthe; as thou hast got, give almes-dedes soe;
Canynges and Gaunts culde doe ne moe.
poem by Thomas Chatterton
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A Prayer
LADY, in thy proud eyes
There is a weary look,
As if the spirit we know through them
Were daunted with rebuke
To think that the heart of man henceforth
Is read like a read book.
Lady, in thy lifted face
The solitude is sore;
The true solitude follows the crowd.
Will it be less or more
When the words have been spoken to thee
Which my heart is seeking for?
Lady, canst thou not guess
The words which my thoughts seek?
Perhaps thou deem'st them well to spurn
And better not to speak.
Oh thou must know my love is strong,
Hearing my voice so weak.
Lady, ah go not thus:
Lady, give ear again:
Lady, oh learn from me that yet
There may one thing remain
Which stands not in the knowledge thou hast
And in thy lore of men.
Lady, the darkness lasteth long
Ere the dawn touch the skies;
Many are the leagues of wilderness
Till ye come where the green lies;
Nay often betwixt doubt and doubt
Death whispers and makes wise.
Lady, has not my thought
Dared much? For I would be
The ending of darkness and the dawn
Of a new day to thee,
And thine oasis, and thy place of rest,
And thy time of peace, lady.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Lady button-eyes
When the busy day is done,
And my weary little one
Rocketh gently to and fro;
When the night winds softly blow,
And the crickets in the glen
Chirp and chirp and chirp again;
When upon the haunted green
Fairies dance around their queen -
Then from yonder misty skies
Cometh Lady Button-Eyes.
Through the murk and mist and gloam
To our quiet, cozy home,
Where to singing, sweet and low,
Rocks a cradle to and fro;
Where the clock's dull monotone
Telleth of the day that's done;
Where the moonbeams hover o'er
Playthings sleeping on the floor -
Where my weary wee one lies
Cometh Lady Button-Eyes.
Cometh like a fleeting ghost
From some distant eerie coast;
Never footfall can you hear
As that spirit fareth near -
Never whisper, never word
From that shadow-queen is heard.
In ethereal raiment dight,
From the realm of fay and sprite
In the depth of yonder skies
Cometh Lady Button-Eyes.
Layeth she her hands upon
My dear weary little one,
And those white hands overspread
Like a veil the curly head,
Seem to fondle and caress
Every little silken tress;
Then she smooths the eyelids down
Over those two eyes of brown -
In such soothing, tender wise
Cometh Lady Button-Eyes.
Dearest, feel upon your brow
That caressing magic now;
For the crickets in the glen
Chirp and chirp and chirp again,
While upon the haunted green
Fairies dance around their queen,
And the moonbeams hover o'er
Playthings sleeping on the floor -
Hush, my sweet! from yonder skies
Cometh Lady Button-Eyes!
poem by Eugene Field
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A Balade of Complaint
Compleyne ne koude, ne might myn herte never,
My peynes halve, ne what torment I have,
Though that I sholde in your presence ben ever,
Myn hertes lady, as wisly he me save
That Bountee made, and Beautee list to grave
In your persone, and bad hem bothe in-fere
Ever t'awayte, and ay be wher ye were.
As wisly he gye alle my joyes here
As I am youres, and to yow sad and trewe,
And ye, my lyf and cause of my gode chere,
And deeth also, whan ye my peynes newe,
My worldes joye, whom I wol serve and sewe,
Myn heven hool, and al my suffisaunce,
Whom for to serve is set al my plesaunce.
Beseching yow in my most humble wyse
T'accepte in worth this litel pore dyte,
And for my trouthe my servyce not despyse,
Myn observaunce eke have not in despyte,
Ne yit to longe to suffren in this plyte;
I yow beseche, myn hertes lady, here,
Sith I yow serve, and so wil yeer by yere.
poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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First Praise
Lady of dusk-wood fastnesses,
Thou art my Lady.
I have known the crisp, splintering leaf-tread with thee on before,
White, slender through green saplings;
I have lain by thee on the brown forest floor
Beside thee, my Lady.
Lady of rivers strewn with stones,
Only thou art my Lady.
Where thousand the freshets are crowded like peasants to a fair;
Clear-skinned, wild from seclusion
They jostle white-armed down the tent-bordered thoroughfare
Praising my Lady.
poem by William Carlos Williams
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To......
(WITH A VOLUME OF EPIGRAMS)
Unto the Lady of The Nook
Fly, tiny book.
There thou hast lovers--even thou!
Fly thither now.
Seven years hast thou for honour yearned,
And scant praise earned;
But ah! to win, at last, _such_ friends,
Is full amends.
poem by William Watson
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Hey Lucky Lady
Hey lucky lady lucky lady I was once the lucky lady
I was happy with my baby I was such a lucky lady
Hey lucky lady lucky lady you are now the lucky lady
Are you happy with my baby you know you're a lucky lady you lucky lady
Lucky lady that's what I was I was happy to have his love
All a woman could wish for he was that and so much more
He was mine and how I loved him before your hands ever touched him
Long before your temptin' eyes lured my baby from my life
Hey lucky lady lucky lady...
Is it love or is it pleasure do you know you've found a treasure
Are you only having fun do you know the prize you've won
If you don't want something lasting if it's just the time you're passing
Lucky lady give him up cause I do love him very much
Hey lucky lady lucky lady...
Hey lucky lady lucky lady...
song performed by by Dolly Parton, music by Dolly Parton (1975)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Roman Girl's Song
Rome, Rome! thou art no more
As thou hast been!
On thy seven hills of yore
Thou satst a queen.
Thou hadst thy triumphs then
Purpling the street,
Leaders and sceptred men
Bow'd at thy feet.
They that thy mantle wore,
As gods were seen–
Rome, Rome! thou art no more
As thou hast been!
Rome! thine imperial brow
Never shall rise:
What hast thou left thee now?
Thou hast thy skies!
Blue, deeply blue, they are,
Gloriously bright!
Veiling thy wastes afar
With colour'd light.
Thou hast the sunset's glow,
Rome, for thy dower,
Flushing tall cypress-bough,
Temple and tower!
And all sweet sounds are thine,
Lovely to hear,
While night, o'er tomb and shrine,
Rests darkly clear.
Many a solemn hymn,
By starlight sung,
Sweeps thro' the arches dim,
Thy wrecks among.
Many a flute's low swell,
On thy soft air
Lingers, and loves to dwell
With summer there.
Thou hast the South's rich gift
Of sudden song,
A charmed fountain, swift,
Joyous, and strong.
Thou hast fair forms that move
With queenly tread;
Thou hast proud fanes above
Thy mighty dead.
Yet wears thy Tiber's shore
A mournful mien:
Rome, Rome! thou art no more
As thou hast been!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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A Night In June
Lady! in this night of June
Fair like thee and holy,
Art thou gazing at the moon
That is rising slowly?
I am gazing on her now:
Something tells me, so art thou.
Night hath been when thou and I
Side by side were sitting,
Watching o'er the moonlit sky
Fleecy cloudlets flitting.
Close our hands were linkèd then;
When will they be linked again?
What to me the starlight still,
Or the moonbeams' splendour,
If I do not feel the thrill
Of thy fingers slender?
Summer nights in vain are clear,
If thy footstep be not near.
Roses slumbering in their sheaths
O'er my threshold clamber,
And the honeysuckle wreathes
Its translucent amber
Round the gables of my home:
How is it thou dost not come?
If thou camest, rose on rose
From its sleep would waken;
From each flower and leaf that blows
Spices would be shaken;
Floating down from star and tree,
Dreamy perfumes welcome thee.
I would lead thee where the leaves
In the moon-rays glisten;
And, where shadows fall in sheaves,
We would lean and listen
For the song of that sweet bird
That in April nights is heard.
And when weary lids would close,
And thy head was drooping,
Then, like dew that steeps the rose,
O'er thy languor stooping,
I would, till I woke a sigh,
Kiss thy sweet lips silently.
I would give thee all I own,
All thou hast would borrow;
I from thee would keep alone
Fear and doubt and sorrow.
All of tender that is mine,
Should most tenderly be thine.
Moonlight! into other skies,
I beseech thee wander.
Cruel, thus to mock mine eyes,
Idle, thus to squander
Love's own light on this dark spot;-
For my lady cometh not!
poem by Alfred Austin
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Sonnet 40: Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all
Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love, thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest;
But yet be blamed, if thou thy self deceivest
By wilful taste of what thy self refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
And yet love knows it is a greater grief
To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Lak of Stedfastnesse
Somtyme the world was so stedfast and stable
That mannes word was obligacioun,
And now it is so fals and deceivable
That word and deed, as in conclusioun,
Ben nothing lyk, for turned up-so-doun
Is al this world for mede and wilfulnesse,
That al is lost for lak of stedfastnesse.
What maketh this world to be so variable
But lust that folk have in dissensioun?
For among us now a man is holde unable,
But if he can by som collusioun
Don his neighbour wrong or oppressioun.
What causeth this but wilful wrecchednesse,
That al is lost for lak of stedfastnesse?
Trouthe is put doun, resoun is holden fable,
Vertu hath now no dominacioun;
Pitee exyled, no man is merciable.
Through covetyse is blent discrecioun.
The world hath mad a permutacioun
Fro right to wrong, fro trouthe to fikelnesse,
That al is lost for lak of stedfastnesse.
O prince, desyre to be honourable,
Cherish thy folk and hate extorcioun.
Suffre nothing that may be reprevable
To thyn estat don in thy regioun.
Shew forth thy swerd of castigacioun,
Dred God, do law, love trouthe and worthinesse,
And wed thy folk agein to stedfastnesse.
poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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Thy Better Self
I AM thy other self, what thou wilt be,
When thou art I, the one seest now;
In finding thy true self thou wilt find me,
The springing blade, where now thou dost but plough.
I am thy neighbor, a new house I've built,
Which thou as yet hast never entered in;
I come to call thee; come in when thou wilt,
The feast is always ready to begin.
Thou should'st love me, as thou dost love thyself,
For I am but another self beside;
To show thee him thou lov'st in better health,
What thou would'st be, when thou to him hast died;
Then visit me, I make thee many a call;
Nor live I near to thee alone, but all.
poem by Jones Very
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That Lady
Who's that lady (who's that lady)
Beautiful lady (who's that lady)
Lovely lady (who's that lady)
Real fine lady (who's that lady)
Hear me calling out to you
'Cause that's all that I can do
Your eyes tell me to pursue
But you say "Look yeah, but don't touch, baby"
Nah, nah, nah don't touch
Who's that lady (who's that lady)
Sexy lady (who's that lady)
Beautiful lady (who's that lady)
Real fine lady (who's that lady)
I would dance upon a string
Any gift she'd want I'd bring
I would give her anything
If she would just do what I say
Come 'round my way, baby
Shine my way
Who's that lady (who's that lady)
Beautiful lady (who's that lady)
Lovely lady (who's that lady)
Real real fine lady (who's that lady)
I would love to take her home
But her heart is made of stone
Gotta keep on keepin' on
If I don't she'll do me wrong
Do me wrong, yeah
(Instrumental)
song performed by by Isley Brothers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vita pro meus Leo-amo angelus
Fear not the world, my Leonine…
Fear not the silent times between.
Fear not the chance of loneliness,
fear not that love could whither yon.
Cometh hither, my Leonine…
Cometh to promised snow,
Cometh and see the world!
Cometh to mine promise kept.
Hold on to thy heart, my Leonine.
Hold on to thy gifts from Him.
Hold on to me, hold on to honour.
Hold on! For the right ones will come.
Fear not the world, my Leonine,
Fear not the possibilities that it holds.
Fear not that love will whither:
Fear not the extinct chance of loneliness.
poem by Wynand Johannes Louw
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Hast Thou Forgotten Me?
HAST thou forgotten me? the days are dark—
Light ebbs from heaven, and songless soars the lark—
Vexed like my heart, loud moans the unquiet sea—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten me? O dead delight
Whose dreams and memories torture me to-night—
O love—my life! O sweet—so fair to see—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten? Lo, if one should say—
Noontide were night, or night were flaming day—
Grief blinds mine eyes, I know not which it be!
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten? Ah, if Death should come,
Close my sad eyes, and charm my song-bird dumb—
Tired of strange woes—my fate were hailed with glee—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten me? What joy have I?
A dim blown bird beneath an alien sky,—
O that on mighty pinions I could flee—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten? Yea, Love’s horoscope
Is blurred with tears and suffering beyond Hope—
Ah, like dead leaves forsaken of the tree,
Thou hast forgotten me.
poem by Philip Joseph Holdsworth
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Who's That Lady
Who's that lady (who's that lady)
Beautiful lady (who's that lady)
Lovely lady (who's that lady)
Real fine lady (who's that lady)
Hear me callin' out to you
'Cause it's all that I can do
Your eyes tell me to pursue
But you say look yeah, but don't touch (but don't touch), baby
nah, nah, nah don't touch
Who's that lady (who's that lady)
Sexy lady (who's that lady)
Beautiful lady (who's that lady)
Real fine lady (who's that lady)
I would dance upon a string
Any gift she'd wanna bring
I would give her anything
If she would just do what I say (just do what I say)
Come 'round my way, baby
Shine my way
Who's that lady (who's that lady)
Beautiful lady (who's that lady)
Lovely lady (who's that lady)
Real fine lady (who's that lady)
I would love to take her home
But her heart is made of stone
I would keep on keepin' on
If I don't she'll do me wrong
Do me wrong, yeah
song performed by by Isley Brothers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Lady Who Cries the Night Away
My Lady Who Cries the Night Away
By: Adam M. Snow
My lady who cries the night away
dost thou not know another way?
Be ye still afraid of thy dream
'Tis varied by the Dream.
Ye be not a life so free,
my maiden my life of thee be me.
Lest beknownst thy drowning fear
that hangs before her all the year.
Besought the light that now grows dim,
hope for once the love of him.
Thy cherish thy love be it not true
like the tears she shed twinkling blue.
Lest thy heart burdened be
lest she glimpse eternity.
My lady who cries the night away
dost thou not know another way?
O' ye be a wakeful woe
glimpse of life, love bestow.
O'er thy morning dove doesth not sing?
My lady, she cries for her fallen king.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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