My Tenants
I never had a title-deed
To my estate. But little heed
Eyes give to me, when I walk by
My fields, to see who occupy.
Some clumsy men who lease and hire
And cut my trees to feed their fire,
Own all the land that I possess,
And tax my tenants to distress.
And if I say I had been first,
And, reaping, left for them the worst,
That they were beggars at the hands
Of dwellers on my royal lands,
With idle laugh of passing scorn
As unto words of madness born,
They would reply
I do not care;
They cannot crowd the charméd air;
They cannot touch the bonds I hold
On all that they have bought and sold.
They can waylay my faithful bees,
Who, lulled to sleep, with fatal ease,
Are robbe. Is one day's honey sweet
Thus snatched? All summer round my feet
In golden drifts from plumy wings,
In shining drops on fragrant things
Free gift, it came to me. My corn,
With burnished banners, morn by morn,
Comes out to meet and honor me;
The glittering ranks spread royally
Far as I walk. When hasty greed
Tramples it down for food and seed,
I, with a certain veiled delight,
Hear half the crop is lost by blight.
Letter of the law these may fulfil,
Plant where they like, slay what they will,
Count up their gains and make them great;
Nevertheless, the whole estate
Always belongs to me and mine.
We are the only royal line.
And though I have no title-deed
My tenants pay me royal heed
When our sweet fields I wander by
To see what strangers occupy.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Related quotes
An Ode
WHAT boots it to be great?
To live in royal state
And feast with kings,
Since now all things
One doom await?
5
What boots it to be fair?
Sweet eyes and golden hair,
And youthful bloom,
Since in the tomb
All foulness there?
10
To live in royal state—
That is not to be great;
Sweet eyes and golden hair—
That is not to be fair.
What is it to be great?
15
Content with thine estate;
To serve thy God and King
In everything—
That is it to be great.
What is it to be fair?
20
Sweet modesty to wear;
To keep thine honour sure,
Thy bosom pure—
That is it to be fair.
Much boots it to be great,
25
Much boots it to be fair.
poem by Frederick George Scott
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The New Man
THE hands must touch and handle many things,
The eyes long waste their glances all in vain;
The feet course still in idle, mazy rings,
E'er man himself, the lost, shall back regain;
The hand that ever moves, the eyes that see,
While day holds out his shining lamp on high,
And strait as flies the honey-seeking bee,
Direct the feet to unseen flowers they spy,
These, when they come, the man revealed from heaven,
Shall labor all the day in quiet rest,
And find at eve the covert duly given,
Where with the bird they find sweet sleep and rest;
That shall their wasted strength to health restore,
And bid them seek the morn the hills and fields once more.
poem by Jones Very
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2 Frogs
I sing above my vision. I sing above my face.
A fat old amphibian speaker for the dead.
Gather round ye animals. gather round this lake.
Take upon your vigil. wallow in the wake.
It was glorious of glories-a maple april day
With a pocket full of horseflies and eyes as bright as rays
They said walk away walk away if you can
But one leap out the village and our caravan began
Traveled to a forest, nestled in the sky.
He ran beside the buffalo-wrestled with the lions
Every day a saturday, a summer waking morn,
His skin burned golden ember due the shine that toad had born.
While riding back an eagle, laughing with the sun
He spied an old hairy fairy man upon the river young.
And sol said, fly away fly away if you can
But he settled next the oarsman, said Im my own man and this is my life...
Heed above my meter, heed above my fate. cant go back again...
I got a reason to be fevered-summer waking morn.
Back back when the poor poor boy was born.
Now cross into his fortune. while enchanted by the queen.
A lone shady shelter stood beckoning his lean.
And in the time it takes a pillow to figure out a face.
Out from in the white tree she rose to take its place.
And the battle for his spirit then caused him to remain.
And he fought as a thousand visigoths and he cursed the night in vain.
She said run away run away if you can
But last he heard a voice of...Im my own man and this is my life...
Off to in her castle, laid upon the stairs
She showered him with daffodils and tied ribbons in his hair.
He woke for bare a moment but she wouldnt let him weep.
With lips of only roses kissed him down to sleep.
So royal loyal subjects now let your ears unbend.
For here ye this traveled tail must sadly meet its end.
Whats fate done to our hero I cannot reply...
The last that I saw him, a flection in her eye.
song performed by by Five For Fighting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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2 Frogs
I sing above my vision. I sing above my face.
A fat old amphibian speaker for the dead.
Gather round ye animals. gather round this lake.
Take upon your vigil. wallow in the wake.
It was glorious of glories-a maple april day
With a pocket full of horseflies and eyes as bright as rays
They said walk away walk away if you can
But one leap out the village and our caravan began
Traveled to a forest, nestled in the sky.
He ran beside the buffalo-wrestled with the lions
Every day a saturday, a summer waking morn,
His skin burned golden ember due the shine that toad had born.
While riding back an eagle, laughing with the sun
He spied an old hairy fairy man upon the river young.
And sol said, fly away fly away if you can
But he settled next the oarsman, said Im my own man and this is my life...
Heed above my meter, heed above my fate. cant go back again...
I got a reason to be fevered-summer waking morn.
Back back when the poor poor boy was born.
Now cross into his fortune. while enchanted by the queen.
A lone shady shelter stood beckoning his lean.
And in the time it takes a pillow to figure out a face.
Out from in the white tree she rose to take its place.
And the battle for his spirit then caused him to remain.
And he fought as a thousand visigoths and he cursed the night in vain.
She said run away run away if you can
But last he heard a voice of...Im my own man and this is my life...
Off to in her castle, laid upon the stairs
She showered him with daffodils and tied ribbons in his hair.
He woke for bare a moment but she wouldnt let him weep.
With lips of only roses kissed him down to sleep.
So royal loyal subjects now let your ears unbend.
For here ye this traveled tail must sadly meet its end.
Whats fate done to our hero I cannot reply...
The last that I saw him, a flection in her eye.
song performed by by Five For Fighting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Royal Family
Royal parents,
Royal birth,
Royal relationship,
Royal love,
Royal wedding,
Royal pregnancy,
Royal child,
Royal family;
Roya, loyal! !
The lineage,
The history,
The heritage;
Nancy, pregnancy!
Line, lineage;
And, you still have her in your heart.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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My beautiful diamond princess
Ho my beautiful diamond princess! Ho my beautiful diamond princess! ! Ho my beautiful diamond princess! ! ! calling you three times make my head swell A princess should come from a royal family A princess should have a royal blood flowing through her vain A princess is recognized in the mist of great multitude as a royal person A princess should have wealth and influence rubbed on her by her father A princess is noticed afar as a royal personality worthy of honor in which i have given to you personally as somebody of great value in my life A title i have given to you from the dept of my heart When i look into your eyes what i see is a diamond of special value calling for attention Who else will i give my attention if not you, you are the only sugar in my tea The only honey in my life You are the reason why i am alive You are the reason for my survival You gave hope to the hopeless while others have lost hope in me, you kept my hope burning while other peoples dream were truncated along the way, you kept my dreams flying higher and higher You gave my dreams an accelerated step to victory, victory is sure, victory at last While darkness comes like a scary monster frighten me at night, you made a light in that scary path for my dreams to come true If i have a wings i will fly, If i have a wings i will fly, long long way far away over the blue sea, over the hilltop, over the mountain where i will be waiting for you Ho my beautiful diamond princess here i bow for you to show my heart felt appreciation Thank you for standing by me through tick and thin Thank you very much
poem by Olayemi Ayo
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A Hot Iron
Expose her,
Expose him,
But on the stage like the ceasefire after the war! !
But, whose guns killed these people?
Reverent,
Dignified,
Filthy lucre!
Breed, greed, reed, need, deed, feed, heed, peed, seed, teed, weed;
But new and inexperience! !
However, the conduct of yourself was like the boldness of your sweet love.
You are giving heed to seducing spirits and the doctrine of demons!
And like a hot iron in the land of your muse;
But founded with the law to expose him or her! !
However, a righteous degree is the way of life than the negative chains of war.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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To
AH, often do I wait and watch,
And look up, straining through the Real
With longing eyes, my friend, to catch
Faint glimpses of your white Ideal.
I know she loved to rest her feet
By slumbrous seas and hidden strand;
But mostly hints of her I meet
On moony spots of mountain land.
I’ve never reached her shining place,
And only cross at times a gleam;
As one might pass a fleeting face
Just on the outside of a Dream.
But you may climb, her happy Choice!
She knows your step, the maiden true,
And ever when she hears your voice,
She turns and sits and waits for you.
How sweet to rest on breezy crest
With such a Love, what time the Morn
Looks from his halls of rosy rest,
Across green miles of gleaming corn!
How sweet to find a leafy nook,
When bees are out, and Day burns mute,
Where you may hear a passion’d brook
Play past you, like a mellow flute!
Or, turning from the sunken sun,
On fields of dim delight to lie—
To close your eyes and muse upon
The twilight’s strange divinity!
Or through the Night’s mysterious noon,
While Sound lies hushed among the trees,
To sit and watch a mirror’d moon
Float over silver-sleeping seas!
Oh, vain regret! why should I stay
To think and dream of joys unknown?
You walk with her from day to day,
I faint afar off—and alone.
poem by Henry Kendall
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Field Of Joy
let's wander slowly through the fields
slowly slowly through the fields
i touch the leaves that touch the sky
just you and i through fields of joy
all trouble slowly fades away
slowly slowly fades away
i hold your hand inside my hand
across the land through fields of joy
the sound of music that we hear
the blend of colors throug the air
all cities, mountains disappear from view
all truth and beauty near to me and you
with you through the fields
with you through the fields
with you through the fields
the fields of joy
let's wander slowly through the fields
slowly slowly through the fields
i know our love will never die
just you and i
through fields of joy
through fields of joy
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cadences
I
(MINOR)
THE ANCIENT memories buried lie,
And the olden fancies pass;
The old sweet flower-thoughts wither and fly,
And die as the April cowslips die,
That scatter the bloomy grass.
All dead, my dear! And the flowers are dead,
And the happy blossoming spring;
The winter comes with its iron tread,
The fields with the dying sun are red,
And the birds have ceas’d to sing.
I trace the steps on the wasted strand
Of the vanish’d springtime’s feet:
Wither’d and dead is our Fairyland,
For Love and Death go hand in hand
Go hand in hand, my sweet!
II
(MAJOR)
OH, what shall be the burden of our rhyme,
And what shall be our ditty when the blossom’s on the lime?
Our lips have fed on winter and on weariness too long:
We will hail the royal summer with a golden-footed song!
O lady of my summer and my spring,
We shall hear the blackbird whistle and the brown sweet throstle sing,
And the low clear noise of waters running softly by our feet,
When the sights and sounds of summer in the green clear fields are sweet.
We shall see the roses blowing in the green,
The pink-lipp’d roses kissing in the golden summer sheen;
We shall see the fields flower thick with stars and bells of summer gold,
And the poppies burn out red and sweet across the corn-crown’d wold.
The time shall be for pleasure, not for pain;
There shall come no ghost of grieving for the past betwixt us twain;
But in the time of roses our lives shall grow together,
And our love be as the love of gods in the blue Olympic weather.
poem by John Howard Payne
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Beautiful Bees
Bees be a buzzin a buzzin be the bee
but the only problem is there not buzzin in the fields.
Greed is the seed, the seed of which is greed
We've hurt the bees to meet our needs and treated them unfairly.
Money is the honey and the honey is the money.
They are slowly disappearing from all our interfering.
Stalling with the Pollen, the pollen that is stalling.
Please stop the pesticides and let it rest awhile.
Bees keep on buzzin, Keep on buzzin bees.
We need them for our future to build our family trees.
poem by Aine Carroll
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Red Is The Blood
You are one who is born to lead
A very fine person indeed
And great things we hear of you and read
Though red is the blood we all bleed.
Your name is sir and your wife's name is dame
And you are not strangers to fame
And despite the title in your name
Your blood it is red just the same
As those in the poor side of town
Poor strangers to wealth and renown
The blood that flow through their heart to their head
Than your blood is no less a red.
You are a World renowned athlete
And the best of all Nations you've beat
You stride out so graceful and tall
Though your blood it is red after all.
The royal one wears a diamond crown
As in a horse drawn carriage she is driven through the town
But to live food and water she need
And red is the blood that she bleed.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Defy Greed
Pay no heed
To your greed
Do it once
Just to give your greatness
A chance.
Once and then once more
As never before
Defy the greed
Pay it no heed.
Here and there
A small sacrifice
Would suffice
You’re learning to share.
You’re learning to defy greed
Learning the worth of a good deed
You’ve it to take the lead
To free the world from greed.
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Mintah William
Sieve, believe, grieve;
And like the muse of 'Mintah William' in the land of my birth;
Succeed, proceed, seed, creed, heed, weed, breed!
With words of love and works of peace;
But, my mind is still on you.
Greed, reed, freed, treed, peed, need, deed, feed!
Searching around and looking for you;
But, i do hope to meet you one day,
For the muse of this village is all about the works of your people.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Heed Not!
Heed not the cock-sure tourist,
Seeing with English eyes;
Stroked at the banquet table
Still, with the old stock lies—
Pet of a social circle,
Guest in a garden fair—
Free of the first-class carriage—
He learns no Australia there.
Heed not the Southern humbugs
By the first saloons who come—
From his work in the wide, hot scrub-lands
The Australian goes not home.
Give them the toadies’ knighthood,
Fit for the souls they’ve got;
Fear not to shame Australia
For Australia knows them not.
Heed not the Sydney ‘dailies,’
Naught for the land they do;
Heed not the Melbourne street crowd,
For they know no more than you!
Pent in the coastal cities,
Still on the old-world track—
They know naught of Australia,
Of the heart of the great Out-Back.
But wait for the voice that gathers
Strength by the western creeks!
Heed ye the Out-Back shearers—
List when the Great Bush speaks!
Heed ye the black-sheep, working
His own salvation free—
And Oh! heed ye the sons of the exiles
When they speak of the things to be!
poem by Henry Lawson
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Repentance
A PASTORAL BALLAD
THE fields which with covetous spirit we sold,
Those beautiful fields, the delight of the day,
Would have brought us more good than a burthen of gold,
Could we but have been as contented as they.
When the troublesome Tempter beset us, said I,
'Let him come, with his purse proudly grasped in his hand;
But, Allan, be true to me, Allan,--we'll die
Before he shall go with an inch of the land!'
There dwelt we, as happy as birds in their bowers;
Unfettered as bees that in gardens abide;
We could do what we liked with the land, it was ours;
And for us the brook murmured that ran by its side.
But now we are strangers, go early or late;
And often, like one overburthened with sin,
With my hand on the latch of the half-opened gate,
I look at the fields, but I cannot go in!
When I walk by the hedge on a bright summer's day,
Or sit in the shade of my grandfather's tree,
A stern face it puts on, as if ready to say,
'What ails you, that you must come creeping to me!'
With our pastures about us, we could not be sad;
Our comfort was near if we ever were crost;
But the comfort, the blessings, and wealth that we had,
We slighted them all,--and our birth-right was lost.
Oh, ill-judging sire of an innocent son
Who must now be a wanderer! but peace to that strain!
Think of evening's repose when our labour was done,
The sabbath's return; and its leisure's soft chain!
And in sickness, if night had been sparing of sleep,
How cheerful, at sunrise, the hill where I stood,
Looking down on the kine, and our treasure of sheep
That besprinkled the field; 'twas like youth in my blood!
Now I cleave to the house, and am dull as a snail;
And, oftentimes, hear the church-bell with a sigh,
That follows the thought--We've no land in the vale,
Save six feet of earth where our forefathers lie!
poem by William Wordsworth
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My Bees: An Allegory
"O bees, sweet bees!" I said, "that nearest field
Is shining white with fragrant immortelles.
Fly swiftly there and drain those honey wells."
Then, spicy pines the sunny hive to shield,
I set, and patient for the autumn's yield
Of sweet I waited.
When the village bells
Rang frosty clear, and from their satin cells
The chestnuts leaped, rejoicing, I unsealed
My hive.
Alas! no snowy honey there
Was stored. My wicked bees had borne away
Their queen and left no trace.
That very day,
An idle drone who sauntered through the air
I tracked and followed, and he led me where
My truant bees and stolen honey lay.
Twice faithless bees! They had sought out to eat
Rank, bitter herbs. The honey was not sweet.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Eat It All
Of life and war!
Of a mighty malak with a rainbow on his head;
Seal up those things for many to learn.
They were meant for the future,
They were meant for us to learn;
So take up my love and eat it all day long.
Of a reed like a measuring rod,
Of the two olive trees;
But do let your mind be at peace always.
Of a weed like a measuring rope,
I am the one for you;
Of a seed like a measuring hope,
I really know what you want on this love;
And it is all about the love that we share,
Like the sweet food of my love to you.
To eat the sweet fruit of my love,
Like the little book beside you;
Of the feed which is like a measuring harveat,
Of the deed which is like a measuring vision,
But to heed like a measuring mission on this love;
Eat it all to satisfy yourself because,
Love is all that we share now.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Lorne and Louise
Lines written on the arrival of Governor Lorne and the Princess Louise in Canada.
The tidings now all hearts do please
That she has landed safe-Louise,
Victoria's beloved daughter
Who boldly has crossed the water.
For Royal Princess doth adorn
The title of the Lord of Lorne,
For this union it doth join
Campbell with Royal Stuart line.
Lorne will be Duke of broad Argyle
And the lord of many an isle.
When he inherits broad domain
May he strive tennants' hearts to gain.
To us it seems a brighter morn
Hath dawned on us with Governor Lorne.
poem by James McIntyre
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In Salutation to the Eternal Peace
Men say the world is full of fear and hate,
And all life's ripening harvest-fields await
The restless sickle of relentless fate.
But I, sweet Soul, rejoice that I was born,
When from the climbing terraces of corn
I watch the golden orioles of Thy morn.
What care I for the world's desire and pride,
Who know the silver wings that gleam and glide,
The homing pigeons of Thine eventide?
What care I for the world's loud weariness,
Who dream in twilight granaries Thou dost bless
With delicate sheaves of mellow silences?
Say, shall I heed dull presages of doom,
Or dread the rumoured loneliness and gloom,
The mute and mythic terror of the tomb?
For my glad heart is drunk and drenched with Thee,
O inmost wind of living ecstasy!
O intimate essence of eternity!
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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