His Masterpiece
Never before was daughter of Eve endow'd with a face so fair,
There be none of God's holy angels with a beauty half so rare
As thine, nor dreamer has ever dreamed the loveliness you wear.
There's a gleam in your golden tress, Lieb! a light in your melting eye!
There is witchery in your smile, Lieb! and a magic in your sigh
That may lure the strong ones to your shrine to worship and - to die.
And I - when you whispered softly, Lleb - perchance would have worshipped, too,
Had bowed to the spell of your beauty-an' it were not that I knew
The Devil had wrought his masterpiece what time he fashioned you.
poem by Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant
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Related quotes
Lieb Mis Bis Dienstag-love You Till Tuesday
Translation by mia berg.
Schan aus deinen fenster, schau wer draussen sitzt
Ich bin ? hier wartet schon die ganze nacht
Wenn du dann dein haus verlaesst winke ich und ruft
Ah ha, wunder schoenes maedchen
Mein brennend verlangen er wartet am montag
Gib mir dein herz und lieb mich bis dienstag
Da da da dum
Da da da dum
Whos that hiding in the apple tree, clinging to a branch
Dont be afraid its only me, hoping for a little romance
If you lie beneath my shade, Ill keep you nice and cool
Ohh, beautiful baby
I was very lonely till I met you on sunday
My passions never-ending and Ill love you till tuesday
Da da da dum
Da da da dum
Da da da dum
Da da da dum
Let the wind blow through your hair, be nice to the big blue sea
Dont be afraid of the man in the moon, because its only me
I shall always watch you until my love runs dry
Ohh, beautiful baby
My hearts a flame, Ill love you till tuesday
My heads in a whirl and Ill love you till tuesday
Lieb, lieb, lieb, lieb, lieb mich bis dienstag
Lieb, lieb, lieb, lieb, lieb mich bis dienstag
Da da da dum
Da da da dum
Da da da dum
Da da da dum
Da da da dum
Da da da dum
Da da da dum
Da da da dum
Na ja vieleicht wird sie auch mittwoch
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet to -----
Ah no! my love knows no vain jealousy:
The rose that blooms and lives but in the sun,
Asks not what other flowers he shines upon,
If he but shine on her. Enough for me,
Thus in thy light to dwell, and thus to share
The sunshine of thy smile with all things fair.
I know thou'rt vowed to Beauty, not to Love.
I would not stay thy footsteps from one shrine,
Nor would I bind thee by a sigh to mine.
For me -- I have no lingering wish to rove;
For though I worship all things fair, like thee,
Of outward grace, of soul-nobility;
Happier than thou, I find them all in one,
And I would worship at thy shrine alone!
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Lotus-Flower
All the heights of the high shores gleam
Red and gold at the sunset hour:
There comes the spell of a magic dream,
And the Harbour seems a lotus-flower;
A blue flower tinted at dawn with gold,
A broad flower blazing with light at noon,
A flower forever with charms to hold
His heart, who sees it by sun or moon.
Its beauty burns like a ceaseless fire,
And tower looks over the top of tower;
For all mute things it would seem, aspire
To catch a glimpse of the lotus-flower.
Men meet its beauty with furrowed face,
And straight the furrows are smoothed away;
They buy and sell in the market-place,
And languor leadens their blood all day.
At night they look on the flower, and lo!
The City passes with all its cares:
They dream no more in its azure glow,
Of gold and silver and stocks and shares.
The Lotus dreams 'neath the dreaming skies,
Its beauty touching with spell divine
The grey old town, till the old town lies
Like one half-drunk with a magic wine.
Star-loved, it breathes at the midnight hour
A sense of peace from its velvet mouth.
Though flowers be fair -- is there any flower
Like this blue flower of the radiant South?
Sun-loved and lit by the moon it yields
A challenge-glory or glow serene,
And men bethink them of jewelled shields,
A turquoise lighting a ground of green.
Fond lovers pacing beside it see
Not death and darkness, but life and light,
And dream no dream of the witchery
The Lotus sheds on the silent night.
Pale watchers weary of watching stars
That fall, and fall, and forever fall,
Tear-worn and troubled with many scars,
They seek the Lotus and end life's thrall.
The spirit spelled by the Lotus swoons,
Its beauty summons the artist mood;
And thus, perchance, in a thousand moons
Its spell shall work in our waiting blood.
Then souls shall shine with an old-time grace,
And sense be wrapped in a golden trance,
And art be crowned in the market-place
With Love and Beauty and fair Romance.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Sonnet 04
If I was drawn here from a distant place,
'Twas not to pray nor hear our friend's address,
But, gazing once more on your winsome face,
To worship there Ideal Loveliness.
On that pure shrine that has too long ignored
The gifts that once I brought so frequently
I lay this votive offering, to record
How sweet your quiet beauty seemed to me.
Enchanting girl, my faith is not a thing
By futile prayers and vapid psalm-singing
To vent in crowded nave and public pew.
My creed is simple: that the world is fair,
And beauty the best thing to worship there,
And I confess it by adoring you.
poem by Alan Seeger
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What is beauty
beauty they say
is being fair of face
beauty is unexplainable
its everywhere, at everyplace
theres beauty in a mothers eyes
and beauty in a babys face
beauty in a soaring tree
and beauty in a
deserted place
beauty in knobbly hands,
that are weathered due to toil and pace
beauty in natures creations
beauty in His kindness and grace
beauty in the joy of parenthood
beauty in the love of friends
beauty too in adversities
and the angels of mercy he also sends
so much beauty, so much joy
all around if we care to see
this world is full of wondrous things
not apparent to you and me
stop to savour reflect awhile
there is beauty all around
things that happen, prayers anwered
His beauty leaves you spellbound
poem by Arti Chopra
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Your Beauty
Your beauty lives within my heart
As if a warming flame,
As if a poet to impart
The sigh that is your name...
Your beauty gives me constant grace
Like those with souls reborn,
Like those who seek God's sweet embrace
And to His love are drawn...
Your beauty breaks what shackles hold,
Releasing me at last,
Releasing hopes as joys unfold
To overcome the past...
Your beauty makes a brighter day
With every smile you share,
With every touch you lead the way
In answer to each prayer...
Your beauty glows to light my path,
For each step I explore,
For each decision's aftermath
And yet you mean much more...
Your beauty fills me every hour,
To bless all things I do,
To bless me with your holy power,
No wonder I love you...
So from Heaven, watch above me,
Where all God's angels throng...
If I love you and you love me,
Together we are strong...
The universe is just a scroll
That time reveals to all,
Until your word completes its goal
And at your feet we fall...
Denis Martindale, copyright, April 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
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A Beauty To Behold
I have seen the beauty in your eyes, A beauty as a whole, a beauty that is natural, A beauty down to your soul,
You make me stop and stare, Each time I see u pass, Even with your beauty, You still have oh so much class!
You truly are a masterpiece, One that only God could make, You have the perfect smile, For God made no mistake! ! ! !
poem by Richard Goolsby
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My Angel Daughter Thou Art So Fine!
My angel daughter thou art so fine
Twinkle is thou name in sky beyond
Of cherish and bliss of your glory name
Y - You
O - Obedient
R - Respectable
E - Elegant
E - Excellent
T - Teenager
A - Archangel
Pen it with a magical spell in your special day
Sparkly with brighten blow of expression
The magical spell uniquely - You obedient respectable
Elegant excellent teenager Archangel
My angel daughter thou art so fine
God bless you with all the happiness
Brilliant potential with dream appear truthfully
With baby angels on the wings
thou shroud of loveliness
My angel daughter thou art so fine
Oh thou grace your prayer daily
Almighty Lord definitely sparkly the magic spell
In the beauty of your destiny far away
In the arms of your soul mate thee
poem by Ezna Stephna
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A Woman's Beauty
The beauty of a woman
Is not determined by a man
Her beauty can be found in her grace
Not just the beauty of her face
It can be found in her style
It can also be found in her smile
Her beauty is in her thoughts
Not just what she has been taught
It can also be found in her soul
It cannot go untold
Her beauty is within her
She does not need to lure
Anyone, because her presence
It is her whole essence
A woman’s beauty is in her heart
Her beauty is her art
The Eye of the Beholder
IF, as they tell in stories old,
The waters of Pactolus roll’d
Over a sand of shifting gold;
If ever there were fairies, such
As those that charm the child so much,
With jewels growing ’neath their touch;
If, in the wine-cup’s sweet deceit,
There lies a secret pleasant cheat,
That turns to beauty all we meet;
The stream, the fairy, and the wine,
In the first love of youth combine
To make its object seem divine.
No golden sand of fabl’d river,
No jewel glittering for ever,
No wine-born vision’s melting quiver,
In vivid glory can compare
With that which we ourselves prepare
To throw round that we fancy fair.
Never such beauty glittered yet,
In golden beams of suns that set
On cupola and minaret.
Never such beauty met men’s eyes
In silver light of moons that rise
O’er lonely lakes ’neath tropic skies.
The world holds nothing of such worth,
There ’s nothing half so fair on earth,
As that to which the heart gives birth:
External beauties pall and fade;
But that which my own soul hath made,
To my conception, knows no shade.
To every ark there comes a dove,
To every heart from heaven above
Is sent a beauty born of love.
The moonlit lake, the waving trees,
It is the eye which looks on these
That makes the loveliness it sees.
Out of myself the beauty grows,
Out of myself the beauty flows
That decks the petals of the rose.
So, when at Ada’s feet I lay,
And saw her glorious as the day,
’Twas my own heart that lent the ray.
poem by James Lionel Michael
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He Stalks Slim Beauty after Lord Byron She Walks in Beauty
He stalks slim beauty's silent flight
through sunless streets, 'neath sullen skies;
stands gall, all's worst below wrong, spite,
defeat, cheat aspect, shady eyes.
This yellow liver would end her light
rich heaven to gaudy fay denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
impairing graceful loveliness.
Itch raves to touch each raven tress,
hard hollow follows fairest face;
his thoughts touch base with base duress
impure, now fear unequal race.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
once soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
where smile once won, now life's tints flow,
destroying days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love was innocent!
(12 October 2011)
She walks in Beauty
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that 's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
poem by Jonathan Robin
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My Maggie
She isn't beautiful as Nefertiti was.
And, unlike Helen,
her face will never launch a thousand ships.
No, her beauty is more open, than entrancing
more welcoming, than enthralling,
more giving, than demanding,
more durable, than perfect.
Perfection inspires no passion,
no lust.
Nefertiti over her?
Her, with her woman's body?
Her, with flesh where woman should have flesh?
Her, with fullness where love and longing
would have nought else?
And her face has beauty in it.
The tender beauty in her gaze
that holds and softens and moulds
a better man within me
than the one that she first knew.
And the bold, brave beauty of her crooked smile.
A smile that tells me who she is,
and who she does not care to be.
Her smile may never softly kill a single soul,
but it warms me, softly warms me,
as I hold her spent and gentle body close to mine.
It warms me from within,
so warms me that it has me dream beyond my worth
and aspire beyond my dreams.
poem by Red O'Mara
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Beauty is
The beauty beheld is alive.
Beauty hiding is of the soul.
Beauty freed is love.
Beauty seen is beauty in control.
Beauty is the passion of the heart.
Beauty causes order divine.
Beauty is seen in all the great.
Beauty is the lure of nature's design.
poem by Josh Alfred
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Lana Jane
Every boy loved her- Lana Jane,
And who could blame them? She was fair,
Of perfect form and beauty rare,
But none could have her, Lana Jane,
The fisherman’s only daughter,
And he no man to barter.
For he would take poor Lana Jane
To sea, and she would stay the boat
When harbored; thus, a dreadful moat
Would bar the way to Lana Jane,
The fisherman’s only daughter,
But he refused to barter.
In fourteen years, sweet Lana Jane,
Was never seen upon the shore
Among the boys who wanted more
Than life to see their Lana Jane,
The fisherman’s only daughter,
Whose father ne'er would barter.
The legend grew of Lana Jane,
While scores of ports, legions of ships
Claimed: “She’s aboard! ” through whispered lips,
“The rarest beauty, Lana Jane,
“The fisherman’s only daughter.
“She's yours to see. Let's barter! ”
Camma
AS one who poring on a Grecian urn
Scans the fair shapes some Attic hand hath made,
God with slim goddess, goodly man with maid,
And for their beauty's sake is loth to turn
And face the obvious day, must I not yearn
For many a secret moon of indolent bliss,
When in the midmost shrine of Artemis
I see thee standing, antique-limbed, and stern?
And yet--methinks I'd rather see thee play
That serpent of old Nile, whose witchery
Made Emperors drunken,--come, great Egypt, shake
Our stage with all thy mimic pageants! Nay,
I am grown sick of unreal passions, make
The world thine Actium, me thine Antony!
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Russian Cathedral
Bow down my soul in worship very low
And in the holy silences be lost.
Bow down before the marble man of woe,
Bow down before the singing angel host.
What jewelled glory fills my spirit's eye,
What golden grandeur moves the depths of me!
The soaring arches lift me up on high
Taking my breath with their rare symmetry.
Bow down my soul and let the wondrous light
Of beauty bathe thee from her lofty throne,
Bow down before the wonder of man's might.
Bow down in worship, humble and alone;
Bow lowly down before the sacred sight
Of man's divinity alive in stone.
poem by Claude McKay
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Beautiful One
Oh beautiful one, adorned with spell
To ravage my world as might a sweet angel.
Oh beautiful thing, so much at ease:
Allure of caressing breeze in touch gentle.
Oh beautiful creature, sail me do,
As floating on seas of halcyon blue tincture.
You beautiful being, gracing charm
And features that render feel of deep texture.
Your beautiful poise in glide supreme,
Gives such like a vista honed as from heaven.
That beautiful art of face ornate,
Not ever to understate or be riven.
Your beautiful flame of pulchritude
Doth dizzy me high, so I conclude always
You beautiful girl forever be
My shining Janette; my guide; my stairway.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
All rights reserved
beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty
beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty
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beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty
beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Beauty Is Loved By All
Who doesn't care beauty?
Not a single one if we count.
Who cares the mind's beauty?
A few, hardly they can be found.
We worship the beauty of face,
the uniqueness in all.
Rare, is their number,
Eyes, still always roll,
in search of gracious lady,
guys try their best.
Finally, they choose and marry,
the beautiful one better than rest,
but, never stop watching ladies,
they never call strike,
in matter of swallowing, the
beauty I think they like.
They are not satisfied with,
the beauty of their home.
They prefer, queens of other kings,
For that they ever roam.
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Introit : V. Litany Of Beauty
Joy, if the Soul or aught immortal be,
How may this Beauty know mortality?
O Beauty, perfect child of Light,
Sempiternal spirit of delight!
White and set with gold like the gold of the night,
The gold of the stars in quiet weather,--
White and shapely and pure!--
O lily-flower from stain secure,
With life and virginity dying together!
One lily liveth so,
Liveth for ever unstained, immortal, a mystic flower:
Perfectly wrought its frame,
Gold inwrought and eternal white,
White more white than cold of the snow,
For never, never, near it came,
Never shall come till the end of all,
Hurtful thing in wind or shower,
Worm or stain or blight;
But ever, ever, gently fall
The dews elysian of years that flow
Where it doth live secure
In flawless comeliness mature,
Golden and white and pure.
In the fair far-shining glow
Of eternal and holy Light.
Beauty of earthly things
Wrought by God and with hands of men!
Beauty of Nature and Art,
Fashioned anew for each Time brings,
For each new soul and living heart!
Beauty of Beauty that fills the ken
Till the soul is swooning, faint with delight!
Beauty of human form and voice,
Of eyes and ears and lips!--
O golden hair and brow of white!--
Wine of Beauty that whoso sips
Doth die to a spirit free, and rejoice,
Living with God and living with men,
Rapt rejoice in eternal bliss,
Raising his face to meet the kiss
Of the Beauty seraphic he sees above
In figure of his love.
O Beauty of Wisdom unsought
That in trance to poet is taught,
Uttered in secret lay,
Singing the heart from earth away,
Cunning the soul from care to lure,--
O mystic lily, from stain and death secure,
Till the end of all to stay!
O shapely flower that must for ever endure!
O voice of God that every heart must hear!
O hymn of purest souls that dost unsphere
The ravished soul that hears! O white, white gem!
O rose that dost the senses drown in bliss!
No thought shall stay the wing, or stem
The song or win the heart to miss
Thy love, thy joy, thy rapture divine!
O Beauty, Beauty, ever thine
The soul, the heart, the brain,
To own three in a loud perpetual strain,
Shriller and sweeter than song of wine,
Than song of sorrow or love or war!
Beauty of heaven and sun and day,
Beauty of water and frost and star,
Beauty of dusk-tide, narrowing, grey!
Beauty of silver light,
Beauty of purple night,
Beauty of solemn breath,
Beauty of closèd eye, and sleep, and death!
Beauty of dawn and dew,
Beauty of morning peace,
Ever ancient and ever new,
Ever renewed till waking cease
Or sleep for ever, when loud the angel's word
Through all the world is heard!
Beauty of brute and bird,
Beauty of earthly creatures
Whose hearts by the hand of God are stirred!
Beauty of the soul,
Beauty informing forms and features,
Fairest to God's eye,--
Beauty that cannot fade or die
Though atoms to ruin roll!
Beauty of blinded Trust,
Led by the hand of God
To a heaven where Cherub hath never trod!
Austere Beauty of Truth
Lighting the way of the just!
Splendid Beauty of Youth
Staying when Youth is sped,
Living when Life is dead,
Burning in funeral dust!
The glory of form doth pale and pall,
Beauty endures to the end of all.
poem by Thomas MacDonagh
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My Idea of beauty
Beauty is the sensation of your heart skipping a beat,
when eyes full of mischief glance at you...
Beauty is the smile which appears on your lips, when you think of the way he smiles at you...
Beauty is in the heart which touches another
Beauty is tender hands holding each other
Beauty is strong arms holding you warm
Beauty is in water, beauty is in weather,
beauty is in air, beauty is in life
Beauty is in love, beauty is in wind...
Beauty surrounds you days and nights
yet no one knows beauty's heights...
poem by Nitya Pillai
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