Rondel. (From The Duke Of Orleans)
Hence away, begone, begone,
Carking care and melancholy!
Think ye thus to govern me
All my life long, as ye have done?
That shall ye not, I promise ye;
Reason shall have the mastery.
So hence away, begone, begone,
Carking care and melancholy!
If ever ye return this way,
With your mournful company,
A curse be on ye, and the day
That brings ye moping back to me!
Hence away, begone, I say!
Carking care and melancholy!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Related quotes
Begone!
As I sit on a bench,
I wonder daily of my past, present and future,
And I ask myself why I have become so sobribrytic,
What manner of toughts are these?
Yes indeed, after the sunshine,
comes the rain,
But mine is neither drizzles nor downpours,
Mine is a cyclone,
It has blown me nothing but illwills,
Ha, I cannot abide with thee oh house of treachers,
Begone! An illwind is what you are,
Begone at once I say!
Begone!
poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
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The Hunt is On!
Across the world, the hunt is on!
Romance is keenly sought.
Foul loneliness, you fiend, begone,
So that you come to nought!
Begone, I say, good riddance, too,
For love is everything.
But when true love seems overdue,
What sorrows that can bring!
Lord, here I pray by day and night.
God, send just ONE to me!
Just ONE in whom to take delight!
God, how hard can that be?
I don't ask much, but come on, Lord!
I've waited for so long.
Why should my burden be ignored?
What am I doing wrong?
I've saved my money year-by-year.
No holidays at all.
So will my sweetheart soon appear
Or will You simply stall?
I'm so impatient! Help me, please!
I can't hold out much more.
I'm begging You.
I'm on my knees!
Not bad at ninety-four
poem by Denis Martindale
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By The Sea
Bright skies of summer o’er the deep,
And soft salt air along the land,
The blue wave, lisping in its sleep,
Sinks gently on the yellow sand;
And gray-winged seagulls slowly sweep
O’er scattered bush and white-limbed tree
Where the red cliffs like bastions stand
To front the salvos of the sea,
Now lulled by its own melody.
Yonder the rising waters ride,
O’er ironstone masses, celled and worn;
There, gnarled and bent by wind and tide,
A single mangrove stands forlorn,
Alone in melancholy pride
A symbol of the soul of man
In Life’s wild surges tossed and torn,
That yearns amid the battle’s van
For the vast good it may not scan.
Along this silent shining sand
Come, brother of my heart, with me,
Tho’ I have never felt thine hand
And tho’ thine eyes I ne’er may see,
Yet somewhere or by sea or land
Thine heart and mine keep equal beat,
And in Life’s strange eternity
Responsive souls perchance may meet,
And know each other ere they greet.
Begone regret and carking care
That to the murky world belong
The chimes of earth and sea and air
Ring softened here to elfin song.
Come, friend of solitude, to where
The low dark jetty meets the blaze
Of sky and waters slumbering long,
Here let us dream while ocean plays
The mystic chants of golden days.
poem by George Essex Evans
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Unwelcome visitor
Begone sad ghost why dost thou bother me.
I knew thee not whilst living thou drew breath.
Nor do I wish to know thee after death.
Why dost thou visit me so frequently?
What is that thou hopest to gain from me?
Unlike the other dead who slumber peacefully.
Under the stone which they must lie beneath.
What wantest thou with me; I know thee not,
nor do I want thy ghostly company.
If once I knew thee I have forgot
Begone sad ghost thou dost not frighten me.
Go now there is no welcome here for thee.
9-Sep-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Witches of Little Begone
Little Begone was a tiny place
Untouched by the fronds of time,
The cottages there, since Edward the third
Had lain in a valley sublime,
Wisteria climbed at the cottage walls
Where lilies and lilacs grew,
And over a fence, the witches stared,
In Little Begone there were two.
They hated each other in Little Begone,
The youngest was Annabel Prank,
She'd stolen the seeds of a magical herb
From the garden of old Mother Skank,
So Skank put a spell on her garden that
Instead of the herbs, would grow
An army of huge zucchini's that
Would spread, right into the road.
Annabel tried to dig them out
But they seemed to grow and grow,
‘That will teach you to mess with me, '
Old Mother Skank had crowed.
So Annabel stormed back into the house
And put on her witches hat,
She turned Skank's cat to a cockerel,
And her cockerel into a cat!
Skank didn't know ‘til the cock miaowed
And the cat began to crow,
‘I've more spells than you know about, '
She screamed from the path below,
She sent an army of ugly toads
To breed in her neighbour's pond,
While Annabel watched the zucchini's grow
And sank in a deep despond.
That night she summoned up Beelzebub
While Skank sat down to plot,
Set fire to her neighbour's chimney piece
And shattered the chimney pots,
So Skank called up an army of bats
To nest in her rival's eaves,
When Annabel ran, with bats in her hair
Skank followed her through the trees.
They fought, pulled hair, and scratched and screamed
‘Til the neighbour's all came out,
‘Isn't it time that we ducked these two, '
Said the blacksmith, Simon Stout.
They seized and carried them down to the pond
And they brought the ducking chair,
Then ducked them both, and they both came up
With pondweed in their hair.
‘If you don't behave in Little Begone
Begone is what you'll be,
We've had enough of your witch's tricks
Since fifteen forty three! '
Now Annabel sells zucchini's at
The market, by the bank,
And she always looks the other way
When she spots old Mother Skank!
6 September 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Not Again
Coo. Coo-coo. 'Unh-unh,
once is enough. Not again.
boo, shoo, begone.'
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Melancholy Mood
A little collie weed to ease I grief
too much agony living in the limits of big city
a little collie weed to meditate
too much insanity in this society
melancholy mood I eat for my food melancholy mood
rise this morning smile with the sun
oh I'm blessed another day has begun
everything in life has its purpose
find its reason it has its season
melancholy mood I eat for my food melancholy mood
tears leave my eyes I just want to fly
deep down I feel pain
but I know I must rise again
from this melancholy mood melancholy mood
melancholy mood I eat for my food melancholy mood
song performed by by Ziggy Marley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Voice
A voice in my head keeps
showing me the way.
My higher is a source
of energy,
It comes from somewhere
begone my ego.
poem by Heather Burns
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Seasons
Icy fingers of silver and blue
Make my aged body shiver and shake
I pray for springtime anew
Warm breezes release me from my frozen prison
Sunlight is a welcome radiant friend
Fragrant aromas arrise from the earth
And the skies fill with birds who ready for birth
Then the time for oppressive heat does arrive
Feels like hell but I am alive
Sweat pours from my body
Like a hydrant for fire
Soon leaves start to fall
Beauty surrounds me
In colors of red green and gold
But I start to shiver anew
Icy fingers of silver and blue
Are knocking at my door
Please begone Old Jack Frost!
With your cold grasp on my body and mind
Your not wanted in this neck of the woods
So begone!
Don't knock to peddle your basket of goods.
Black and White and the Grey in between.
Black as ebony, dark as night.
When right seems wrong and wrong seems right.
Grey and tar and wisps of smoke,
on thoughts we muddle, on tears we choke.
The lines that shape our world will blur and shift,
imaginary bridges where there are rifts.
Disappear and begone, the truth now shows,
yet it brings not joys, but brings us woes.
On The Neglect Of Homer
Could Homer come himself, distressed and poor
And tune his harp at Rhedicina's door,
The rich old vixen would exclaim, (I fear,)
'Begone! no tramper gets a farthing here.'
poem by William Cowper
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The Soul Snatcher!
When I awoke from midnight sleep,
I heard a rustling creature creep
And on my bed, its vigil keep,
Till my eyes opened wide...
I saw the demon crawl around,
Regardless of its stirring sound,
As if by fear it wasn't bound
And saw no cause to hide...
So there we were, now both awake,
With me amazed, for goodness sake
And my weak heart began to ache
And beat so fast inside...
'Hello, old soul, I'm here to trade!
I know from righteousness you've strayed,
But I've a deal that could be made,
A contract to abide...'
'My soul is mine and mine alone,
Not even God my soul could own,
Yet while God rules upon His throne,
I'll trust in Christ who died...'
'But I can grant so many things!
Why be one of God's underlings?
Come sign and share each joy life brings!
A Princess for a bride! '
'What use are trinkets of this Earth?
Not one has proved eternal worth!
For years I gave each one wide berth,
As each must be denied...'
'Denied? What foolish talk is that?
I'm tempted just to leave you flat!
But since you haven't made me scat,
Perhaps you're pleased I tried...'
'Begone, foul spirit, stay no more!
Begone, I say and close the door!
I live by grace and not by law
And conscience is my guide...'
'So be it, lonely child of grace,
Now old with such a forlorn face,
With none to kiss, none to embrace...
Sleep well, alone... each night...'
Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Astrophel And Stella-Eleventh Song
"Who is it that this dark night
Underneath my window plaineth?"
'It is one who from thy sight
Being, ah! exiled, disdaineth
Every other vulgar light.'
"Why, alas! and are you he?
Be not yet those fancies changed?"
'Dear, when you find change in me,
Though from me you be estranged,
Let my change to ruin be.'
"Well, in absence this will die;
Leave to see, and leave to wonder."
'Absence sure will help, If I
Can learn how myself to sunder
From what in my heart doth lie.'
"But time will these thoughts remove:
Time doth work what no man knoweth."
'Time doth as the subject prove,
With time still the affection groweth
In the faithful turtle dove.'
"What if you new beauties see?
Will not they stir new affection?"
'I will think they pictures be,
Image-like of saint's perfection,
Poorly counterfeiting thee.'
"But your reason's purest light
Bids you leave such minds to nourish."
'Dear, do reason no such spite,—
Never doth thy beauty flourish
More than in my reason's sight.'
"But the wrongs love bears will make
Love at length leave undertaking."
'No, the more fools do it shake
In a ground of so firm making,
Deeper still they drive the stake.'
"Peace! I think that some give ear;
Come no more, lest I get anger."
'Bliss, I will my bliss forbear,
Fearing, sweet, you to endanger;
But my soul shall harbour there.'
Well, begone, begone, I say,
Lest that Argus' eyes perceive you."
'O unjust Fortune's sway,
Which can make me thus to leave you,
And from louts to run away!'
poem by Philip Sidney
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Mercy
'Wake up son, the city is about to go up in flames!
Sins are many, they heap upon me all blames!
Take thy household, nothing else and flee.
To the hills, look not behind thee
Take no silver, take no gold
But thy coat to keep thee from the cold
Take no livestock, call no friends
Lest it pass from friends to fiends
wake now, wake all, hurry soon
Before the rising of another noon
Run now, to the hills begone
Lest my mercy upon thee undone!
But if thou has any word to say
I bid thee hence without delay
Pour out thy thoughts, say it now
For in thy flight no word will I allow
Speak now for thy earthly sake
And upon thy words, will I my judgment take'
'If there be, Lord! Ten righteous men in the city
Will thee upon all take no pity? '
'Aye! I will, my little one so precious
But there is none anywhere so righteous'
'Let then thy will o lord be done
Pray now, let me from hence begone'
'But for my last, let me once more plea
for I have seen little kindness around me!
A lass indeed, mending another's cloth
And a lad giving to beggars his day's worth
Will thee o lord! such gesture omit
And thy fearful anger still permit? '
'Nay! My son, if such kindness exist,
I will my terrible vengeance now desist'
'Then Lord, for love sake shall I ask
That thy anger upon us, thou would not task'
'Aye son, for that love thou hath spoken,
Then shall thee rest secure, for I have my mercy given! !
©Allen 2006.
poem by Okonkwo Osamedua. Allen
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Away, Melancholy
Away, melancholy,
Away with it, let it go.
Are not the trees green,
The earth as green?
Does not the wind blow,
Fire leap and the rivers flow?
Away melancholy.
The ant is busy
He carrieth his meat,
All things hurry
To be eaten or eat.
Away, melancholy.
Man, too, hurries,
Eats, couples, buries,
He is an animal also
With a hey ho melancholy,
Away with it, let it go.
Man of all creatures
Is superlative
(Away melancholy)
He of all creatures alone
Raiseth a stone
(Away melancholy)
Into the stone, the god
Pours what he knows of good
Calling, good, God.
Away melancholy, let it go.
Speak not to me of tears,
Tyranny, pox, wars,
Saying, Can God
Stone of man's thoughts, be good?
Say rather it is enough
That the stuffed
Stone of man's good, growing,
By man's called God.
Away, melancholy, let it go.
Man aspires
To good,
To love
Sighs;
Beaten, corrupted, dying
In his own blood lying
Yet heaves up an eye above
Cries, Love, love.
It is his virtue needs explaining,
Not his failing.
Away, melancholy,
Away with it, let it go
poem by Stevie Smith
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Regret
Yes, Happiness hath left me soon behind!
Alas! we all pursue its steps! and when
We've sunk to rest within its arms entwined,
Like the Phoenician virgin, wake, and find
Ourselves alone again.
Then, through the distant future's boundless space,
We seek the lost companion of our days:
'Return, return!' we cry, and lo, apace
Pleasure appears! but not to fill the place
Of that we mourn always.
I, should unhallowed Pleasure woo me now,
Will to the wanton sorc'ress say, 'Begone!
Respect the cypress on my mournful brow,
Lost Happiness hath left regret--but _thou_
Leavest remorse, alone.'
Yet, haply lest I check the mounting fire,
O friends, that in your revelry appears!
With you I'll breathe the air which ye respire,
And, smiling, hide my melancholy lyre
When it is wet with tears.
Each in his secret heart perchance doth own
Some fond regret 'neath passing smiles concealed;--
Sufferers alike together and alone
Are we; with many a grief to others known,
How many unrevealed!
Alas! for natural tears and simple pains,
For tender recollections, cherished long,
For guileless griefs, which no compunction stains,
We blush; as if we wore these earthly chains
Only for sport and song!
Yes, my blest hours have fled without a trace:
In vain I strove their parting to delay;
Brightly they beamed, then left a cheerless space,
Like an o'erclouded smile, that in the face
Lightens, and fades away.
poem by Victor Hugo
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Googly-go0
Of mornings, bright and early,
When the lark is on the wing
And the robin in the maple
Hops from her nest to sing,
From yonder cheery chamber
Cometh a mellow coo -
'T is the sweet, persuasive treble
Of my little Googly-Goo!
The sunbeams hear his music,
And they seek his little bed,
And they dance their prettiest dances
Round his golden curly head:
Schottisches, galops, minuets,
Gavottes and waltzes, too,
Dance they unto the music
Of my googling Googly-Goo.
My heart - my heart it leapeth
To hear that treble tone;
What music like thy music,
My darling and mine own!
And patiently - yes, cheerfully
I toil the long day through -
My labor seemeth lightened
By the song of Googly-Goo!
I may not see his antics,
Nor kiss his dimpled cheek:
I may not smooth the tresses
The sunbeams love to seek;
It mattereth not - the echo
Of his sweet, persuasive coo
Recurreth to remind me
Of my little Googly-Goo.
And when I come at evening,
I stand without the door
And patiently I listen
For that dear sound once more;
And oftentimes I wonder,
"Oh, God! what should I do
If any ill should happen
To my little Googly-Goo!"
Then in affright I call him -
I hear his gleeful shouts!
Begone, ye dread forebodings -
Begone, ye killing doubts!
For, with my arms about him,
My heart warms through and through
With the oogling and the googling
Of my little Googly-Goo!
poem by Eugene Field
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Idleness
O idleness, too fond of me,
Begone, I know and hate thee!
Nothing canst thou of pleasure see
In one that so doth rate thee;
For empty are both mind and heart
While thou with me dost linger;
More profit would to thee impart
A babe that sucks its finger.
I know thou hast a better way
To spend these hours thou squand'rest;
Some lad toils in the trough to-day
Who groans because thou wand'rest;
A bleating sheep he dowses now
Or wrestles with ram's terror;
Ah, 'mid the washing's hubbub, how
His sighs reproach thine error!
He knows and loves thee, Idleness;
For when his sheep are browsing,
His open eyes enchant and bless
A mind divinely drowsing;
No slave to sleep, he wills and sees
From hill-lawns the brown tillage;
Green winding lanes and clumps of trees,
Far town or nearer village,
The sea itself; the fishing feet
Where more, thine idle lovers,
Heark'ning to sea-mews find thee sweet
Like him who hears the plovers.
Begone; those haul their ropes at sea,
These plunge sheep in yon river:
Free, free from toil thy friends, and me
From Idleness deliver!
poem by Thomas Sturge Moore
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With The Night
O doubts, dull passions, and base fears,
That harassed and oppressed the day,
Ye poor remorses and vain tears,
That shook this house of clay:
All heaven to the western bars
Is glittering with the darker dawn;
Here with the earth, the night, the stars,
Ye have no place: begone!
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Retirement
O, let me be alone a while,
No human form is nigh.
And may I sing and muse aloud,
No mortal ear is by.
Away! ye dreams of earthly bliss,
Ye earthly cares begone:
Depart! ye restless wandering thoughts,
And let me be alone!
One hour, my spirit, stretch thy wings,
And quit this joyless sod,
Bask in the sunshine of the sky,
And be alone with God!
poem by Anne Brontë
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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