Breath Of The Briar
I
O briar-scents, on yon wet wing
Of warm South-west wind brushing by,
You mind me of the sweetest thing
That ever mingled frank and shy:
When she and I, by love enticed,
Beneath the orchard-apples met,
In equal halves a ripe one sliced,
And smelt the juices ere we ate.
II
That apple of the briar-scent,
Among our lost in Britain now,
Was green of rind, and redolent
Of sweetness as a milking cow.
The briar gives it back, well nigh
The damsel with her teeth on it;
Her twinkle between frank and shy,
My thirst to bite where she had bit.
poem by George Meredith
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Related quotes
Love and Friendship
Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree --
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most contantly?
The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who wil call the wild-briar fair?
Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He may still leave thy garland green.
poem by Emily Jane Brontë
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Love and Friendship
Love is like the wild rose-briar;
Friendship like the holly-tree.
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again,
And who will call the wild-briar fair?
Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now,
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
That, when December blights thy brow,
He still may leave thy garland green.
poem by Emily Brontë from Selections from the literary remains of Emily and Anne Brontë (1850)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Lily Has A Smooth Stalk
The lily has a smooth stalk,
Will never hurt your hand;
But the rose upon her briar
Is lady of the land.
There's sweetness in an apple tree,
And profit in the corn;
But lady of all beauty
Is a rose upon a thorn.
When with moss and honey
She tips her bending briar,
And half unfolds her glowing heart,
She sets the world on fire.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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The Best Pipe
In vain you fervently extol,
In vain you puff, your cutty clay.
A twelvemonth smoked and black as coal,
'Tis redolent of rank decay
And bones of monks long passed away—
A fragrance I do not admire;
And so I hold my nose and say,
Give me a finely seasoned briar.
Macleod, whose judgment on the whole
Is faultless, has been led astray
To nurse a high-born meerschaum bowl,
For which he sweetly had to pay.
Ah, let him nurse it as he may,
Before the colour mounts much higher,
The grate shall be its fate one day.
Give me a finely seasoned briar.
The heathen Turk of Istamboul,
In oriental turban gay,
Delights his unbelieving soul
With hookahs, bubbling in a way
To fill a Christian with dismay
And wake the old Crusading fire.
May no such pipe be mine, I pray;
Give me a finely seasoned briar.
Clay, meerschaum, hookah, what are they
That I should view them with desire?
Both now, and when my hair is grey,
Give me a finely seasoned briar.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Love is like the wild rose-briar; Friendship like the holly-tree. The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, but which will bloom most constantly?
quote by Emily Bronte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Real Friendship Is
Friendship sails 'cross all kinds of seas-
The calm, the stirred, the galed...
Serene, difficult and outright stormy...
But true friendship-it never fails;
You come together open-hearted-
With profound respect and devotion-
Tied together with a common thread-
That can sustain any waves of the ocean;
The mark of true friendship stands...
Even when ones skies turn grey-
It is not just partial to sunny fair weather...!
Or absolute attendence come what may! ;
For oft' times we get side tracked...
From our own personal tragedies or worse...
Leaving us sometimes absent but never forgetting...
Our true friends in lifes most gifted verse;
For true friendship is not picky-!
It doesn't correct, fault find or critisize...!
It is a blessing as sure as Gods love-
A most cherished gift in our lives;
May 24,2010
Love And Friendship
By Emily Bronte
Love is like the wild rose briar
Friendship like the holly tree
The holly is dark when the rose briar blooms
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild rose-briar is sweet in the Spring
Its Summer blossoms scent the air
Yet wait till Winter comes again
And who will call the wild briar fair?
Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the hollys sheen
That when December blights thy brow
He may still leave thy garland green.
poem by Theodora Onken
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Sweet Sour Apple Bites
Orchard of apple and variety
Here you come, the apples lover
Come sing and praise like always
'Shining around the skin
Your colour is my favorite apple
The fresh one
So is your taste'
Apples smile and sing
'If i am green
A sweet sour love
Bite one, bite two
Bite still
Taste me my apples lover
Taste my sweet sour love
I'm green and sour
Pluck me bite me my lover'
The hunter replies
Bite one and some
Tasted your sour love
Bite still because i am the apple lover'
Apples smile continue the song
'If i am red apple
Sweet and moist
Bite one, then two
Bite more
Taste my sweet life
I'm red and taste nice
Bite one bite some
Taste me sweet you will like it'
'Green or Red
Bite sweet or bite sour
I must love you my apples
simply because...
I am the true apple lover'
Explained hunter
Sweet red or sour green
Sugar rich energy will reach your heart sooner
Running in your blood and pump the beat so dear
'O apples my dear i grow you in orchard to be with me so near'
Confessed by gardener, before apple answered
'You work hard and love so sincere, will fruit you love every year'
Bite one, sweet or sour everyday
Promise keeps you away from doctor
Bite one Bite some Bite all say the lover
Energy, Protect you always said apple
If you love something, make it further
This is what apple and hunter tell you, No Fears
Credit to Ahmed Khaled to point some issues of apples
so what i can say here it was inspired by Ahmed Khaled and fair to say this is our collaboration. Took of the chance to dedicate this poem for Steve, Co founder of Apple...All his courage to chase his dream is what i really called as an apple lover...
Meaning of this poem,
I want to talk about 'Do what you want' choose what you like
It's not all about apples, it is about...if you have a dream (your future)
make it real either you taste it difficult or easy you will always enjoyed it
just like i tell you in the story, green or red, sweet or sour
the apple hunter/gardener still like it, why simple cause the hunter like it
..As you know what you like and nod for the challenge, you will
get satisfied with what are you having, doing...it's your favorite choice
..Include the words 'An apple a day keeps doctor away' hoping you
understand, you will safe and satisfy if you choose the path you like
and you will safe from regret..Chase your dream :) _Unwritten Soul
poem by Unwritten Soul
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In The Old Man's House
The mad churl at the headstone,
The vane’s point, south,
The bright burn, the sad sin
At the carlin’s mouth.
The young field on the old day
By the age-old tarn,
The bloodstone by the highway
Where the wind breasts down;
Athame, set on a black cloth
By the five point star,
The cup brims, the dye sets
By the sharp hoar briar.
The thatch-rot at the damp wall
Of the dark stone hut,
The lampwick at the breastbone
Where the old man sat,
The sharp prick of the hoar briar
The thumb’s blood-spray,
The last flickering lamplight
Where the old shades play;
The long slash and the slow hush
At the breath’s death joust,
The wind shrieks at red rags
In the old man’s house.
20 October 1977
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Finding Nectar
The scent of pollen
Draws it nigh
The butterfly
Needn't fly high!
It needn't go far
Nor mind the briar
To draw nectar
From the yearning flower!
I learned it from butterfly
All I ought to find lie
So near me
I only have to see!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Field Path
The beams in blossom with their spots of jet
Smelt sweet as gardens wheresoever met;
The level meadow grass was in the swath;
The hedge briar rose hung right across the path,
White over with its flowers--the grass that lay
Bleaching beneath the twittering heat to hay
Smelt so deliciously, the puzzled bee
Went wondering where the honey sweets could be;
And passer-bye along the level rows
Stoopt down and whipt a bit beneath his nose.
poem by John Clare
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The Apple Tree Greed
he has an apple a green apple
he is the only person in this room
with a green apple
suppose suppose NOW
he has MORE of those at home
WHY he has a GREEN APPLE tree
In his backyard no WAIT
He has a vineyard behind his chapeau
And he makes green apple wine
And he sells it to the BOONES FARM people
And they make BOONES FARM green apple wine
And the whole city is soon sick
The children ralf and barf and ralf again
There is no more end to the men
Drinking all the green apple wine
To make this ONE person rich
He never offered me any of his wine
Eyes never drink of alcoholic beverage
Eye have juices and tea and a soda please
I'm just full of good intentions
Picking green apples in my mind and eating way too many
Having a green apple with mye lunch of poetical decay
WAIT he left and YES he took the green apple core with him
Not leaving me a bite not wanting me to taste the pleasure
of his mite. Why eye understand him greedy is his name
the green apple hoarder has so many apples now his wine cellar is so full and his larders aer so rich he does save the stems and seeds to plant again in ground so rich and he chews on this green apple while he watches MTV in selfish hedonistacal revenge while eye have no green apple stuck between my teeth OH bliss oh strang decay my teeth at least aer happier today he took the core away he left me all alone im appleless today im happier to say no song is being sung of little apples of the green variety been hung oh see the tree how big its grown the apples have been lost too long and they fall in misery from branches of decay to rot to rot to rot upon the vineyard floor there is no apple wine no more the green variety is gone they drink it only read and red is the color of the wine in cups so full of color there in plates so heaped of agony with applesauces vailiantly piled higher then the sky.
poem by Parme Hice
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Barbriallen
It was in the merry month of May
When green bugs were a-swelling
Sweet William on his death bed lay
For the love of Barbriallen
He sent his servant to the town
The place where she'd been dwelling
Say master dear has sent me here
If your name be Barbriallen
And slowly, slowly she got up
And slowly she went to him
And all she said when she got there
Young man I think you are dying
Oh, don't you remember the other day
When we where in a tavern
You drank your health to the ladies there
And you slided Barbriallen
He turned his face unto the wall
He turned his back upon her
Adieu, adieu to all my friends
Be kind to Barbriallen
She looked to the east, she looked to the west
She saw his corpse a-coming
Oh, put him down for me she cried
That I may gaze upon him
The more she looked, the more she grieved
She bursted it out in crying
Oh, pick me up and carry me home
For I feel like I am dying
They buried sweet Willy in the old church yard
And Barbara in the new one
From Willy's grave there grew a rose
From Barbara's a green briar
They grew and they grew on the old church wall
And could not grow no higher
And there they tied in a true love's knot
The rose bush and the briar
song performed by by Simon & Garfunkel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Apple Orchard
A sunny afternoon, with blanket spread,
Beneath some apple trees, with ample shade,
We'd sit with tray of tea and gingerbread,
Scones with cream, and these were freshly homemade.
Apples hung above us, each ripe and red,
So colourful, they somehow set the scene.
Sampling strawberry jam on thin sliced shortbread,
We'd lay and watch the leaves, with sun between.
Peaceful lazy days were these, and so free,
Whiling away hours, with paint and book,
Our orchard, where under a favoured tree,
We'd relish Peter Pan and Captain Hook.
Those rosy apples, that we'd all consume,
And savour juicy flesh so soft and sweet,
Eating them until we had no more room,
Those halcyon days were to us a treat.
Dappled sunshine sparkled amids the boughs,
And danced on, with a gentle pleasing sway,
Oh What I would give to again just browse,
In that apple orchard, for one more day.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Waterfall and The Eglantine
'Begone, thou fond presumptuous Elf,'
Exclaimed an angry Voice,
'Nor dare to thrust thy foolish self
Between me and my choice!'
A small Cascade fresh swoln with snows
Thus threatened a poor Briar-rose,
That, all bespattered with his foam,
And dancing high and dancing low,
Was living, as a child might know,
In an unhappy home.
II
'Dost thou presume my course to block?
Off, off! or, puny Thing!
I'll hurl thee headlong with the rock
To which thy fibres cling.'
The Flood was tyrannous and strong;
The patient Briar suffered long,
Nor did he utter groan or sigh,
Hoping the danger would be past;
But, seeing no relief, at last,
He ventured to reply.
III
'Ah!' said the Briar, 'blame me not;
Why should we dwell in strife?
We who in this sequestered spot
Once lived a happy life!
You stirred me on my rocky bed--
What pleasure through my veins you spread
The summer long, from day to day,
My leaves you freshened and bedewed;
Nor was it common gratitude
That did your cares repay.
IV
'When spring came on with bud and bell,
Among these rocks did I
Before you hang my wreaths to tell
That gentle days were nigh!
And in the sultry summer hours,
I sheltered you with leaves and flowers;
And in my leaves--now shed and gone,
The linnet lodged, and for us two
Chanted his pretty songs, when you
Had little voice or none.
V
'But now proud thoughts are in your breast--
What grief is mine you see,
Ah! would you think, even yet how blest
Together we might be!
Though of both leaf and flower bereft,
Some ornaments to me are left--
Rich store of scarlet hips is mine,
With which I, in my humble way,
Would deck you many a winter day,
A happy Eglantine!'
VI
What more he said I cannot tell,
The Torrent down the rocky dell
Came thundering loud and fast;
I listened, nor aught else could hear;
The Briar quaked--and much I fear
Those accents were his last.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Let Sleeping Dogs Lie
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Let sleeping dogs lie
Let weeping babies cry
Let peeping ladies pry
Let dying fires die
Let soldier sentries spy
Let shopping trollies buy
Let dolphins sigh
Let those that cannot, try
Let those who can, deny
Let heliophiles fry
Let all our washing dry
Let piglets fly
and pigs clean out their sty
Let briar roses bry
Let Fo Fum fee and fi
Let matelots shout, “Aye, aye! ”
Let Nora exclaim, “Oh, my! ”
Let be the apple of my eye
Let the Catcher stay in the rye
Let Dee and Edward Kelley scry
Let the End be really nigh
Let God eat our humble pie.
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
poem by Brian Taylor
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Anything You Can Do
ANNIE: Anything you can do I can do better
......I can do anything better than you
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can, yes, I can
FRANK: Anything you can be I can be greater
......Sooner or later I'm greater than you
ANNIE: No, you're not
FRANK: Yes, I am
ANNIE: No, you're not
FRANK: Yes, I am
ANNIE: No, you're not
FRANK: Yes, I am, yes I am
FRANK: I can shoot a partridge with a single cartridge
ANNIE: I can get a sparrow with a bow and arrow
FRANK: I can live on bread and cheese
ANNIE: And only on that?
FRANK: Yes
ANNIE: So can a rat
FRANK: Any note you can reach I can go higher
ANNIE: I can sing anything higher than you
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
ANNIE: Anything you can buy I can buy cheaper
......I can buy anything cheaper than you
FRANK: Fifty cents
ANNIE: Forty cents
FRANK: Thirty cents
ANNIE: Twenty cents
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can, yes, I can
FRANK: Anything you can say I can say softer
ANNIE: I can say anything softer than you
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can, yes, I can
FRANK: I can drink my liquor faster than a flicker
ANNIE: I can do it quicker and get even sicker
FRANK: I can open any safe
ANNIE: Without being caught?
FRANK: Sure
ANNIE: That's what I thought (you crook)
FRANK: Any note you can hold I can hold longer
ANNIE: I can hold any note longer than you
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can, yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't - yes, you can
ANNIE: Anything you can wear I can wear better
......In what you wear I'd look better than you
FRANK: In my coat
ANNIE: In your vest
FRANK: In my shoes
ANNIE: In your hat
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can, yes, I can
FRANK: Anything you can say I can say faster
ANNIE: I can say anything faster than you
FRANK: Noyoucan't
ANNIE: YesIcan
FRANK: Noyoucan't
ANNIE: YesIcan
FRANK: Noyoucan't
ANNIE: YesIcan
FRANK: Noyoucan't
ANNIE: YesIcan
FRANK: I can jump a hurdle
ANNIE: I can wear a girdle
FRANK: I can knit a sweater
ANNIE: I can fill it better
FRANK: I can do most anything
ANNIE: Can you bake a pie?
FRANK: No
ANNIE: Neither can I
FRANK: Anything you can sing I can sing sweeter
ANNIE: I can sing anything sweeter than you
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Oh, yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
FRANK: No, you can't, can't, can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can, can, can, can
FRANK: No, you can't
ANNIE: Yes, I can
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am from
I am from homey 12, Briar Lane and a party twenty four hours a day at 16, Briar Lane.
I am from fruity Jolly Ranchers and super sonic speed bikes.
I am from the most horrible kids and amazing friends.
I am from luxury cars and extremely loud "pffts! ".
I am from little, silent "bam" and garbage disposal smells.
I am from dancing waves on lakes and ponds.
I am from trees hugging my houses and swishing pools.
I am from extremely competitive soccer and Grammie.
I am from Grampa and dad.
I am from Aunt Laura and Mickey.
I am from my amazingly brilliant room and amazingly good Shepard's pie.
I am from brilliantly texturized and not burnt homemade macaroni and chocolate sweet hershey bar.
poem by Ethan Sperdakos
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