Loves Harvest
Fond Lunatick forbear, why do'st thou sue
For thy affections pay e're it is due?
Loves fruits are legal use; and therefore may
Be onely taken on the marriage day.
Who for this interest too early call,
By that exaction lose the Principall.
Then gather not those immature delights,
Untill their riper Autumn thee invites.
He that abortive Corn cuts off his ground,
No Husband but a Ravisher is found:
So those that reap their love before they wed,
Do in effect but Cuckold their own Bed.
poem by Henry King
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Meditation Before Sacrament
Arise my soul & hast away
Thy god doth call & canst thou stay
Thee to his table he invites
To tast of heavenly delights
He sufferd death to sett thee free
From sin; & canst thou slothfull be
To serve him should he for it call
Thy life would be a gift too small
But he desires to make it Blest
And now Invites thee to a feast
A feast of the divinest food
A feast of our own saviours flesh & blood
For shame dull sluggish soul arise
Wilt thou so great a good despise
You'de earthly kings obey with pride
& is ye king of heav'n deni'de
Thou know'st not what this act doth mean
Or would'st not sure be Backward then
The god who all has made tis he
Invites so base a worm as thee
& wilt thou then ungratefull be
No Ld I come & be thou kind
In mercy to me wretchd & blind
The way thou must not onely shew
But give me eyes to find it too
Each step I take yn to thy holy place
Ile utter Halelujahs to thy praise
poem by Thomas Parnell
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Is There A Legal Ground
Is there a legal ground?
One can stand on to feel safe and sound.
Is there a legal ground?
One that can be found that's not shaking around.
Is there a legal ground?
One that is near,
Not to be feared...
And if one should fall,
A solidness is clear!
Is there a legal ground?
Anywhere.
One understood.
One that is shared.
Is there a legal ground?
One that is cemented...
Making feelings of it different,
With a jumping up and down...
Packing heavy weighted pounds.
Is there a legal ground?
Around...
To be found!
Is there a legal ground?
Around...
To be found.
Is there a legal ground?
Around...
To be found.
Is there a legal ground?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Summer
And sleeps thy heart when flower and tree
Adorn the summer stillness?
And did young Spring pass over thee
In chillness?
Their scent delights and pleases,
On petalled breezes blown,
But in their beauty freezes
Thine own.
The flower awakes, the tree is leafed,
Yet love in thee is dumb,—
Flowers fall, fruits ripen, corn is sheafed,
Ho! Winter’s cold will come.
When wakens some November morn
Dew-soft, around thee brightly,
And blossoms on the grey hawthorn
Lie whitely,
Come thou, thy bosom beating,
And learn, through new-found bliss,
No time so joyous, fleeting,
As this.
Come thou, with shadows in thine eyes,
And singing in thy heart,
And learn, ’mid trees, with flowers and skies,
How young and dear thou art.
poem by Johannes Carl Andersen
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Sonnet 36: Let me confess that we two must be twain
Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one;
So shall those blots that do with me remain,
Without thy help, by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
Which, though it alter not love's sole effect,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailèd guilt should do thee shame,
Nor thou with public kindness honour me
Unless thou take that honour from thy name.
But do not so; I love thee in such sort
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
poem by William Shakespeare
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In My Solitary Hours in My Dear Husband his Absence
O Lord, Thou hear'st my daily moan
And see'st my dropping tears.
My troubles all are Thee before,
My longings and my fears.
Thou hitherto hast been my God;
Thy help my soul hath found.
Though loss and sickness me assailed,
Through Thee I've kept my ground.
And Thy abode Thou'st made with me;
With Thee my soul can talk;
In secret places Thee I find
Where I do kneel or walk.
Though husband dear be from me gone,
Whom I do love so well,
I have a more beloved one
Whose comforts far excel.
O stay my heart on Thee. my God,
Uphold my fainting soul.
And when I know not what to do,
I'll on Thy mercies roll.
My weakness. Thou dost know full well
Of body and of mind;
I in this world no comfort have,
But what from Thee I find.
Though children Thou has given me,
And friends I have also,
Yet if I see Thee not through them
They are no joy, but woe.
O shine upon me, blessed Lord,
Ev'n for my Saviour's sake;
In Thee alone is more than all,
And there content I'll take.
O hear me, Lord, in this request
As Thou before hast done,
Bring back my husband, I beseech,
As Thou didst once my son.
So shall I celebrate Thy praise
Ev'n while my days shall last
And talk to my beloved one
Of all Thy goodness past.
So both of us Thy kindness, Lord,
With praises shall recount
And serve Thee better than before
Whose blessings thus surmount.
But give me, Lord, a better heart,
Then better shall I be,
To pay the vows which I do owe
Forever unto Thee.
Unless Thou help, what can I do
But still my frailty show?
If Thou assist me, Lord,
I shall Return Thee what I owe.
poem by Anne Bradstreet
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Sonnet 42: That thou hast her, it is not all my grief
That thou hast her, it is not all my grief,
And yet it may be said I loved her dearly;
That she hath thee is of my wailing chief,
A loss in love that touches me more nearly.
Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye:
Thou dost love her because thou know'st I love her,
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me,
Suff'ring my friend for my sake to approve her.
If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain,
And, losing her, my friend hath found that loss;
Both find each other, and I lose both twain,
And both for my sake lay on me this cross.
But here's the joy: my friend and I are one,
Sweet flattery! Then she loves but me alone.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Sakontala
WOULDST thou the blossoms of spring, as well as the fruits of the autumn,
Wouldst thou what charms and delights, wouldst thou what plenteously, feeds,
Would thou include both Heaven and earth in one designation,
All that is needed is done, when I Sakontala name.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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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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Sonnet XLVIII: Cupid, I Hate Thee
Cupid, I hate thee, which I'd have thee know;
A naked starveling ever may'st thou be.
Poor rogue, go pawn thy fascia and thy bow
For some few rags wherewith to cover thee.
Or, if thou'lt not, thy archery forbear,
To some base rustic do thyself prefer,
And when corn's sown or grown into the ear,
Practise thy quiver and turn crow-keeper.
Or, being blind, as fittest for the trade,
Go hire thyself some bungling harper's boy;
They that are blind are often minstrels made;
So may'st thou live, to thy fair mother's joy,
That whilst with Mars she holdeth her old way,
Thou, her blind son, may'st sit by them and play.
poem by Michael Drayton
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An Ode : While Blooming Youth And Gay Delight
While blooming youth and gay delight
Sit on thy rosy cheeks confess'd,
Thou hast, my dear, undoubted right
To triumph o'er this destined breast.
My reason bends to what thy eyes ordain;
For I was born to love, and thou to reign.
But would you meanly thus rely
On power you know I must obey?
Exert a legal tyranny,
And do an ill because you may?
Still must I thee, as Atheists Heaven, adore;
Not see thy mercy, and yet dread thy power?
Take heed, my dear: youth flies apace;
As well as Cupid, Time is blind:
Soon must those glories of thy face
The fate of vulgar beauty find:
The thousand Loves, that arm thy potent eye,
Must drop their quivers, flag their wings, and die.
Then wilt thou sigh, when in each frown
A hateful wrinkle more appears:
And putting peevish humours on,
Seems but the sad effect of years:
Kindness itself too weak a charm will prove
To raise the feeble fires of aged love.
Forced compliments, and formal bows,
Will show thee just above neglect;
The heat with which thy lover glows,
Will settle into cold respect:
A talking dull Platonic I shall turn;
Learn to be civil, when I cease to burn.
Then, shun the ill, and know, my dear,
Kindness and constancy will prove
The only pillars, fit to bear
So vast a weight as that of love.
If thou canst wish to make my flames endure,
Thine must be very fierce, and very pure.
Haste, Celia, haste, while youth invites,
Obey kind Cupid's present voice;
Fill every sense with soft delights,
And give thy soul a loose to joys:
Let millions of repeated blisses prove
That thou all kindness art, and I all love.
Be mine, and only mine; take care
Thy looks, thy thoughts, thy dreams, to guide
To me alone; nor come so far,
As liking any youth beside:
What men e'er court thee, fly them, and believe
They're serpents all, and thou the tempted Eve.
So shall I court thy dearest truth,
When beauty ceases to engage;
So, thinking on thy charming youth,
I'll love it o'er again in age;
So time itself our raptures shall improve,
While still we wake to joy, and live to love.
poem by Matthew Prior
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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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The Personal Trainer
husband
didn't pay attention when she started to change her look,
after all, she'd been saying how she wanted to for a while &
it seemed to make sense,
what with her going back to the gym full time,
after a period of time away
when they first had been married-
husband just went about his days
working more hours than he knew what to do with,
business was good &
with all the business around him seeming to fail,
he'd been putting away for the life he imagined in the future,
with or without
her-
but her time spent at the gym seemed to increase &
thought her body began to get trimmer, sexier, tighter, stronger &
she seemed to walk around the house with a new zest for life
(when he was there to see her) ,
he still didn't notice that
the personal trainer had moved in-
she had said something to him,
but he was listening less & less
as he had more & more to worry about at work,
for it was all part of building his empire.
the personal trainer was a less successful man
by the standard that money can by,
but he listened to her
as he traced her curves with his fingers in the gym
with palms of his hand smoothly gliding over her muscles
making her body quiver &
it wasn't long before in the car outside the gym
they consummated the professional relationship
again &
again &
again &
again.
as she began to show less interest in sex with her husband,
he wrote it off as a side-effect of marriage &
found himself a main squeeze on the side,
a 20 something who needed money to get her through college
with a perkiness that made him feel young again &
a body that wouldn't quit-
as he grew more distant from the wife,
she grew closer to the personal trainer,
until the day when she brought him home to the house,
when she swore the husband would be gone.
husband found out the way a husband will
when husband had been no longer interested
until another shows his face, as it is only jealousy then
which kicks in, making husband suddenly care-
but personal trainer put husband on the ground
when husband came into his own bedroom
to find personal trainer banging away his bride
who now had no interest in husband-
husband sued the personal trainer for assault &
bride to be divorced husband, taking half of everything he had,
breaking his empire down to nothing
as he had been stupid enough to not require a prenup
at the beginning of it all.
poem by Andrew Delapruch
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Autumn Love
I met her in the autumn;
When such are found, you know.
She said, 'In all her glory.'
Though joking, oh how so!
So true, I did inform her.
But then, to no surprise.
Such things are never certain
In autumn's paradise.
An autumn love, so firmly,
May grasp a loving heart;
It still may seem together,
Though broken from the start.
Through autumn, when it found me.
Through winter's frozen years.
Such love alive in springtime,
Brings forth a rain of tears.
That's why the loves of autumn
Display a special trait.
The heartbreak, comes much sooner.
The love ends, much too late.
For young love, it's more tragic.
Although it's torn apart,
The yearning never ceases
Around a virgin heart.
So when the tears of springtime
Give way and summer looms;
The autumn love, once tempting,
Ignores the soul it dooms.
And then, the autumn comes again
For young loves one and all.
Changing then, its name once more,
From autumn to the fall.
poem by Greenwolfe 1962
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Every Time You Throw Dirt On Her (You Lose A Little Ground)
I guess you think it's fun
To laugh at her expense
And point out each mistake she makes
In front of all your friends
You figure she'll let it go by
'Cause she loves you so
But, you know.
Every time you throw dirt on her
You lose a little ground
She slips a little further away
Each time that you put her down
A lady like that can come here and get
Somebody who knows what he's found
Every time you throw dirt on her
You lose a little ground.
--- Instrumental ---
It's hard to bite my lip
But, I ain't saying a word
I give you all the rope to hang yourself
That you deserve
You might be ahead of me in her heart, today
But, that's okay.
Every time you throw dirt on her
You lose a little ground
She slips a little further away
Each time that you put her down
A lady like that can come here and get
Somebody who knows what he's found
Every time you throw dirt on her
You lose a little ground.
Every time you throw dirt on her
You lose a little ground
She slips a little further away
Each time that you put her down
A lady like that can come here and get
Somebody who knows what he's found
Every time you throw dirt on her
You lose a little ground.
Every time you throw dirt on her
You lose a little ground
She slips a little further away
Each time that you put her down...
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shall I Compare Thee to an Autumn Day
Shall I compare thee to an autumn day?
From the coolness of a breeze;
to the changing colors of the leaves.
Indeed you are more complex then either of these things.
Yet thou are just as beautiful as the season.
And as long as thou will allow me too
I shall love thee no matter what thou mood.
I just hope and pray thou allow me to love thee forever
Hymn: Thou Hidden Love of God
Thou hidden love of God, whose height,
Whose depth unfathom'd no man knows,
I see from far thy beauteous light,
Inly I sigh for thy repose;
My heart is pain'd, nor can it be
At rest, till it finds rest in thee.
Thy secret voice invites me still,
The sweetness of thy yoke to prove:
And fain I would: but tho' my will
Seem fix'd, yet wide my passions rove;
Yet hindrances strew all the way;
I aim at thee, yet from thee stray.
'Tis mercy all, that thou hast brought
My mind to seek her peace in thee;
Yet while I seek, but find thee not,
No peace my wand'ring soul shall see;
O when shall all my wand'rings end,
And all my steps to thee-ward tend!
Is there a thing beneath the sun
That strives with thee my heart to share?
Ah! tear it thence, and reign alone,
The Lord of ev'ry motion there;
Then shall my heart from earth be free,
When it hath found repose in thee.
O hide this self from me, that I
No more, but Christ in me may live;
My vile affections crucify,
Nor let one darling lust survive;
In all things nothing may I see,
Nothing desire or seek but thee.
O Love, thy sov'reign aid impart,
To save me from low-thoughted care:
Chase this self-will thro' all my heart,
Thro' all its latent mazes there:
Make me thy duteous child, that I
Ceaseless may Abba, Father, cry!
Ah no! ne'er will I backward turn:
Thine wholly, thine alone I am!
Thrice happy he who views with scorn
Earth's toys, for thee his constant flame;
O help that I may never move
From the blest footsteps of thy love!
Each moment draw from earth away
My heart that lowly waits thy call:
Speak to my inmost soul, and say,
I am thy love, thy God, thy all!
To feel thy power, to hear thy voice,
To taste thy love, be all my choice.
poem by John Wesley
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The Scrutinie
I.
Why shouldst thou sweare I am forsworn,
Since thine I vow'd to be?
Lady, it is already Morn,
And 'twas last night I swore to thee
That fond impossibility.
II.
Have I not lov'd thee much and long,
A tedious twelve moneths space?
I should all other beauties wrong,
And rob thee of a new imbrace;
Should I still dote upon thy face.
III.
Not but all joy in thy browne haire
In others may be found;
But I must search the black and faire,
Like skilfulle minerallists that sound
For treasure in un-plow'd-up ground.
IV.
Then if, when I have lov'd my round,
Thou prov'st the pleasant she;
With spoyles of meaner beauties crown'd,
I laden will returne to thee,
Ev'n sated with varietie.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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The Scrutinie. Song
I.
Why shouldst thou sweare I am forsworn,
Since thine I vow'd to be?
Lady, it is already Morn,
And 'twas last night I swore to thee
That fond impossibility.
II.
Have I not lov'd thee much and long,
A tedious twelve moneths space?
I should all other beauties wrong,
And rob thee of a new imbrace;
Should I still dote upon thy face.
III.
Not but all joy in thy browne haire
In others may be found;
But I must search the black and faire,
Like skilfulle minerallists that sound
For treasure in un-plow'd-up ground.
IV.
Then if, when I have lov'd my round,
Thou prov'st the pleasant she;
With spoyles of meaner beauties crown'd,
I laden will returne to thee,
Ev'n sated with varietie.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Paternal Love
[LE ROI S'AMUSE, Act II]
My child! oh, only blessing Heaven allows me!
Others have parents, brothers, kinsmen, friends,
A wife, a husband, vassals, followers,
Ancestors, and allies, or many children.
I have but thee, thee only. Some are rich;
Thou art my treasure, thou art all my riches.
And some believe in angels; I believe
In nothing but thy soul. Others have youth,
And woman's love, and pride, and grace, and health;
Others are beautiful; thou art my beauty,
Thou art my home, my country and my kin,
My wife, my mother, sister, friend--my child!
My bliss, my wealth, my worship, and my law,
My Universe! Oh, by all other things
My soul is tortured. If I should ever lose thee--
Horrible thought! I cannot utter it.
Smile, for thy smile is like thy mother's smiling.
She, too, was fair; you have a trick like her,
Of passing oft your hand athwart your brow
As though to clear it. Innocence still loves
A brow unclouded and an azure eye.
To me thou seem'st clothed in a holy halo,
My soul beholds thy soul through thy fair body;
E'en when my eyes are shut, I see thee still;
Thou art my daylight, and sometimes I wish
That Heaven had made me blind that thou might'st be
The sun that lighted up the world for me.
poem by Victor Hugo
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A Jet Ring Sent
THOU art not so black as my heart,
Nor half so brittle as her heart, thou art;
What would'st thou say? shall both our properties by thee be spoke,
—Nothing more endless, nothing sooner broke?
Marriage rings are not of this stuff;
Oh, why should ought less precious, or less tough
Figure our loves? except in thy name thou have bid it say,
"—I'm cheap, and nought but fashion; fling me away."
Yet stay with me since thou art come,
Circle this finger's top, which didst her thumb;
Be justly proud, and gladly safe, that thou dost dwell with me;
She that, O! broke her faith, would soon break thee.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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