Licia Sonnets 13
Enamored Jove commanding did entreat
Cupid to wound my love, which he denied,
And swore he could not for she wanted heat
And would not love, as he full oft had tried.
Jove in a rage, impatient this to hear,
Replied with threats; "I'll make you to obey!"
Whereat the boy did fly away for fear
To Licia's eyes, where safe intrenched he lay.
Then Jove he scorned, and dared him to his face,
For now more safe than in the heavens he dwelled,
Nor could Jove's wrath do wrong to such a place
Where grace and honour have their kingdom held.
Thus in the pride and beauty of her eyes
The seely boy the greatest god defies.
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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Licia Sonnets 03
The heavens beheld the beauty of my queen,
And all amazed, to wonder thus began:
"Why dotes not Jove, as erst we all have seen,
And shapes himself like to a seemly man?
Mean are the matches which he sought before,
Like bloomless buds, too base to make compare,
And she alone hath treasured beauty's store,
In whom all gifts and princely graces are.
Cupid replied: "I posted with the sun
To view the maids that livéd in those days,
And none there was that might not well be won,
But she, most hard, most cold, made of delays.
Heavens were deceived, and wrong they do esteem,
She hath no heat, although she living seem.
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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Licia Sonnets 21
Licia my love was sitting in a grove,
Tuning her smiles unto the chirping songs,
But straight she spied where two together strove,
Each one complaining of the other's wrongs.
Cupid did cry lamenting of the harm;
Jove's messenger, thou wrong'st me too too far;
Use thou thy rod, rely upon the charm;
Think not by speech my force thou canst debar.
A rod, Sir boy, were fitter for a child,
My weapons oft and tongue and mind you took;
And in my wrong at my distress thou smiled,
And scorned to grace me with a loving look.
Speak you, sweet love, for you did all the wrong
That broke his arrows, and did bind his tongue.
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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To A Friend On His Nuptials
When Jove lay bless'd in his Alcmæna's charms,
Three nights in one he press'd her in his arms;
The sun lay set, and conscious nature strove
To shade her god, and to prolong his love.
From that auspicious night Alcides came;
What less could rise from Jove and such a dame?
May this auspicious night with that compare,
Nor less the joys, nor less the rising heir,
He strong as Jove, she like Alcmæna fair.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Sonnet XIII: Phoebus Was Judge
Phoebus was judge between Jove, Mars, and Love,
Of those three gods, whose arms the fairest were:
Jove's golden shield did eagle sables bear,
Whose talons held young Ganymede above:
But in vert field Mars bare a golden spear,
Which through a bleeding heart his point did shove:
Each had his crest; Mars carried Venus' glove,
Jove in his helm the thunderbolt did rear.
Cupid them smiles, for on his crest there lies
Stella's fair hair, her face he makes his shield,
Where roses gules are borne in silver field.
Phoebus drew wide the curtains of the skies
To blaze these last, and sware devoutly then,
The first, thus match'd, were scantly gentlemen.
poem by Philip Sidney
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On Seeing Mrs. ** Perform In The Character Of
FOR you, bright fair, the nine address their lays,
And tune my feeble voice to sing thy praise.
The heartfelt power of every charm divine,
Who can withstand their all-commanding shine?
See how she moves along with every grace,
While soul-brought tears steal down each shining face.
She speaks! 'tis rapture all, and nameless bliss,
Ye gods! what transport e'er compared to this.
As when in Paphian groves the Queen of Love
With fond complaint addressed the listening Jove,
'Twas joy, and endless blisses all around,
And rocks forgot their hardness at the sound.
Then first, at last even Jove was taken in,
And felt her charms, without disguise, within.
poem by Oliver Goldsmith
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Again Endorsing the Lady
Horace: Book II, Elegy 2
"Liber eram et vacuo meditabar vivere lecto--"
I was free. I thought that I had entered
Love's Antarctic Zone.
"A truce to sentiment," I said. "My nights
shall be my own."
But Love had double-crossed me. How can
Beauty be so fair?
The grace of her, the face of her--and oh,
her yellow hair!
And oh, the wondrous walk of her! So doth
a goddess glide.
Jove's sister--ay, or Pallas--hath no statelier
a stride.
Fair as Iscomache herself, the Lapithanian
maid;
Or Brimo where at Mercury's side her virgin
form she laid.
Surrender now, ye goddesses whom erst the
shepherd spied!
Upon the heights of Ida lay your vestitures
aside!
And though she reach the countless years of
the Cumæan Sibyl,
May never, never Age at those delightful
features nibble!
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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On The World
WITH a whirl of thoughts oppress’d,
I sunk from reverie to rest.
A horrid vision seized my head,
I saw the graves give up their dead!
Jove, arm’d with terrors, bursts the skies,
And thunder roars and lightning flies!
Amazed, confused, its fate unknown,
The world stands trembling at his throne!
While each pale sinner hung his head,
Jove, nodding, shook the heavens, and said:
“Offending race of human kind,
By nature, reason, learning, blind;
You who, through frailty, stepp’d aside;
And you, who never fell from pride:
You who in different sects were shamm’d,
And come to see each other damn’d;
(So some folk told you, but they knew
No more of Jove’s designs than you
—The world’s mad business now is o’er,
And I resent these pranks no more.
—I to such blockheads set my wit!
I damn such fools!—Go, go, you’re bit.”
poem by Jonathan Swift
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Again Endorsing the Lady, II
I thought that I was wholly free,
That I had Love upon the shelf;
"Hereafter," I declared in glee,
"I'll have my evenings to myself."
How can such mortal beauty live?
(Ah, Jove, thine errings I forgive!)
Her tresses pale the sunlight's gold;
Her hands are featly formed and taper;
Her--well, the rest ought not be told
In any modest family paper.
Fair as Ischomache, and bright
As Brimo. Quæque queen is right.
O goddesses of long ago,
A shepherd called ye sweet and slender.
He saw ye, so he ought to know;
But sooth to her ye must surrender.
O may a million years not trace
A single line upon that face!
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Thaumantia and Fame
Go Thaumantia,' said Jove, 'and descend from the sky,
'For Fame's golden clarion I hear;
'Go learn what great mortal's desert is so high
'As to ask notes so loud, sweet, and clear.
The goddess in haste met the starry wing'd dame,
And demands why her notes she does raise?
'For the greatest of patriots and heroes,' said Fame,
'Tell Jove it is Washington's praise!'
poem by Ann Eliza Bleecker from The Posthumous Works of Ann Eliza Bleecker
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Licia Sonnets 11
In Ida vale three queens the shepherd saw,
Queens of esteem, divine they were all three,
A sight of worth. But I a wonder shaw,
Their virtues all in one alone to be.
Licia the fair, surpassing Venus' pride,
(The matchless queen, commander of the gods,
When drawn with doves she in her pomp doth ride)
Hath far more beauty, and more grace by odds
Juno, Jove's wife, unmeet to make compare,
I grant a goddess, but not half so mild;
Minerva wise, a virtue, but not rare;
Yet these are mean, if that my love but smiled.
She them surpasseth, when their prides are full
As far as they surpass the meanest trull.
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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First Epigram: Upon Being Contented with a Little
1 We deem them moderate, but Enough implore,
2 What barely will suffice, and ask no more:
3 Who say, (O Jove) a competency give,
4 Neither in Luxury, or Want we'd live.
5 But what is that, which these Enough do call?
6 If both theIndies unto some should fall,
7 Such Wealth would yet Enough but onely be,
8 And what they'd term not Want, or Luxury.
9 Among the Suits, O Jove, my humbler take;
10 A little give, I that Enough will make.
poem by Anne Killigrew
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Love And Folly
LOVE, who now deals to human hearts,
Such ill thrown, yet resistless darts,
That hapless mortals can't withstand them,
Was once less cruel and perverse,
Nor did he then his shafts disperse,
So much at random.
It happened, that the thoughtless child
Was rambling thro' a flowery wild,
Like idle lad in school vacation;
Where sauntering now, and now at rest,
Stroll'd Folly, who to Love address'd
His conversation.
On trifles he had much to say,
Then laughing he propos'd to play,
And stake against Love's bow his bauble;
The quiver'd gamester smil'd and won,
But testy Folly soon began
To fret and squabble.
Loud and more loud the quarrel grows;
From words the wranglers went to blows,
For Folly's rage is prompt to rise;
Till bleeding Love a martyr stood
A stroke from Folly's weapon rude,
Put out his eyes.
Then wild with anguish, Venus pray'd,
For vengeance on the idiot's head,
And begg'd of cloud-compelling Jove,
His swiftest lightening, to destroy,
The mischievous malignant boy
That blinded Love.
'Folly is immortal,' Jove replied,
'But, tho' your prayer must be denied,
'An endless penance is decreed him;
'For Love, tho' blind, will reign around
'The world; but still where-ever found,
'Folly shall lead him.'
poem by Charlotte Smith
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Licia Sonnets 30
Whenas my Licia sailed in the seas,
Viewing with pride god Neptune's stately crown,
A calm she made, and brought the merchant ease,
The storm she stayed, and checked him with a frown.
Love at the stern sate smiling and did sing
To see how seas had learned for to obey;
And balls of fire into the waves did fling;
And still the boy full wanton thus did say
"Both poles we burnt whereon the world doth turn,
The round of heaven from earth unto the skies;
And now the seas we both intend to burn,
I with my bow, and Licia with her eyes."
Then since thy force, heavens, earth, nor seas can move,
I conquered yield, and do confess I love.
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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Thank You Lord
"Thank You Lord"
A year has passed with a blink of an eye
I thank you Lord, for I'm still alive.
Pardon me if ever I did wrong
Keep me safe and keep me strong.
I pray for good health and courage to face
That life may bring just incase…..
So show me the light…the road to success
Build up my confidence…that I forget.
Keep my loved ones safe and sound
I know in prayers it can be found.
A special prayer for a special "U"
I love you God so help me through
I close my eyes and bow before you
Make my wishes and dreams come true.
For it's "U" I turn to in times of pain
And I know my prayers will be heard again…
poem by Meena Mustafa
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Licia Sonnets 04
Love and my love did range the forest wild,
Mounted alike, upon swift coursers both.
Love her encountered, though he was a child.
"Let's strive," saith he, whereat my love was wroth,
And scorned the boy, and checked him with a smile.
"I mounted am, and arméd with my spear;
Thou art too weak, thyself do not beguile;
I could thee conquer if I naked were."
With this love wept, and then my love replied:
"Kiss me, sweet boy, so weep my boy no more."
Thus did my love, and then her force she tried;
Love was made ice, that fire was before.
A kiss of hers, as I, poor soul, do prove,
Can make the hottest freeze and coldest love.
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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Are you the Cove?
“Are you the Cove?” he spoke the words
As swagmen only can;
The Squatter freezingly inquired,
“What do you mean, my man?”
“Are you the Cove?” his voice was stern,
His look was firm and keen;
Again the Squatter made reply,
"I don’t know what you mean."
“0! dash my rags! let’s have some sense –
You ain’t a fool, by Jove,
Gammon you dunno what I mean;
I mean – are you the Cove?’
‘Yes, I'm the Cove,” the Squatter said;
The Swagman answered, "Right,
I thought as much: show me some place
Where I can doss tonight."
poem by Joseph Furphy
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Your Awful Voice
Your awful voice I hear and I obey,
Brother to Jove and monarch of the sea.
Come down, my blusterers, swell no more,
Your stormy rage give o'er.
To your prisons below,
Down you must go.
In hollow rocks your revels make,
Nor 'till I call your trembling dens forsake.
poem by Thomas Shadwell
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Intimacy
I hear people say, "I love my iPhone, "
Or, "I love drinking a Starbucks coffee."
Sometimes: "I love my Versace cologne, "
And also: "I love having this money."
I hear people say, "I love my Walmart, "
Or, "I love the drive-thru at Taco Bell."
"I love my TV. It's state of the art."
"I love the shoes that Nike has to sell."
I hear this: "I love American Idol, "
And, "I love a nice, cold Budweiser."
"I love medicines such as Demerol."
And, "I love my internet provider."
Yet, one thing I don't hear is, "I love you."
Saying that is too intimate to do.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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King Cophetua The First
Said Jove within himself one day,
‘I'll make me a mistress out of clay!
These ninefold spheres of chiming quires,
Though little things and therefore sweet,
Too Godlike are for my desires:
My pleasure still is incomplete.
The gust of love is mystery,
Which poorly yet the heavens supply.
Now where may God for mystery seek
Save in the earthly, small, and weak?
My work, then, let me crown and end
With what I ne'er shall comprehend!’
And so the unfathomable Need,
Hell's mock, Heaven's pity, was decreed.
And, with perversity immense
As all his other affluence,
Jove left his wondering Court behind
And Juno's almost equal mind,
On low and little Earth to seek
That vessel infinitely weak,
(The abler for the infinite honour
He hugely long'd to put upon her,)
And, in a melancholy grove,
Found sighing his predestined Love,
A pretty, foolish, pensive maid,
The least of heaven-related things,
Of every boy and beast afraid,
But not of him, the King of Kings.
He look'd so measurelessly mild,
And so he flatter'd her, poor child,
By lifting with respect her hand
To his salute benign and grand,
That, when he spoke, and begged to be
Instructed in her wishes, she,
Having a modest minute tarried,
Lisp'd, ‘I should like, Sire, to be married.’
But, when he smiling ask'd, ‘Whom to?’
She blush'd and said, she scarcely knew.
Then Jove named Shepherds, Lords, and Kings
To her free choice; for all such things
Were his and his to give; but these
She shook her curls at. ‘Hard to please
Is my small Cousin, but my nod
Shall call from heaven some splendid God—’
‘Ah, Maker mine, no God will do
That's not as great a God as you!’
Thereat Jove laugh'd: ‘As least of things
Alone can sate the King of Kings,
So the least thing, it seems, that I
Alone of Gods can satisfy!’
And, fading in her flushing arms,
He blazed for ever from her charms.
Thenceforth the maiden sang and shone,
Admired by all and woo'd by none,
For, though she said she was a sinner,
'Twas clear to all that Jove was in her,
And, but for that deep pagan night,
She would have been a Carmelite.
poem by Coventry Patmore
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The Oak And Its Branches.
An Oak, with spreading Branches crown'd,
Beheld an Ivy on the Ground,
Expos'd to ev'ry trampling Beast,
That roam'd around the dreary Waste.
The Tree of Jove, in all his State,
With Pity view'd the Ivy's Fate;
And kindly told her, She should find
Security around his Rind:
Nor was that only his Intent,
But to bestow some Nourishment.
The Branches saw, and griev'd to see
Some Juices taken from the Tree.
Parent, say they, in angry Tone,
Your Sap should nourish us alone:
Why should you nurse this Stranger Plant,
With what your Sons, in time, may want;
May want, to raise us high in Air,
And make us more distinguish'd there.
'Tis well -- the Parent--Tree reply'd;
Must I, to gratify your Pride,
Act only with a narrow View
Of doing Good to none but you?
Know, Sons, tho' Jove hath made me great,
I am not safe from Storms of Fate.
Is it not prudent then, I pray,
To guard against another Day?
Whilst I'm alive, You crown my Head;
This graces me alive, and dead.
poem by Mary Barber
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