Of human bondage
When my love and I mutually swear that we both are made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she is fickle; full of frauds and dry lies,
Making me wondering if she might think me some untutored youth,
Unlearnèd in the ways of the vast world's false cunning subtleties.
Thus lying to each other, I cannot tell if she thinks me young,
Although in her mind she knows my days are past their best,
Being an occasional adulterous myself, I credit her false-speaking tongue;
On both sides hypocrisy thrives and thus is simple truth suppressed.
But wherefore I can never say or guess when and if she is unjust?
Consuming fresh young flesh wherefore say not I that I am old?
The thrusting thought that love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love, loves not to have years told.
Therefore I do bed her, and she does bed me,
And in our faults by lies and by false evasive excuses we flattered be.
Beware when being seduced by sweet fresh younger nymph's kind
Love becomes a monster that plays havoc with your mind
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Related quotes
Sonnet 138: When my love swears that she is made of truth
When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutored youth,
Unlearnèd in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue;
On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love, loves not to have years told.
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flattered be.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Sonnet 138
When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unskilful in the world's false forgeries.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although I know my years be past the best,
I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue,
Outfacing faults in love with love's ill rest.
But wherefore says my love that she is young?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O Love's best habit is a flattering tongue,
And Age, in love, loves not to have years told.
Therefore I'll lie with Love, and love with me,
Since that our faults in love thus smother'd be.
poem by William Shakespeare from The Passionate Pilgrim (1599)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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You came to me at the autumn of my life
You came to me at the autumn of my life
At the end of the day at the dawn of my dusk
You came to me so suddenly and so swift
to stir the heart to shake the love I knew
You came to me a sweet flower of the field
Love forlorn, furrows of pain in the beauty of your face
anguish in your lengthy sigh
upon your checks the tears long ran dry
To remind me of forms of love I never knew
To challenge to intrigue life calm and satiate
Although I knew my years were past best
I smiled at your false speaking tongue
Outfacing faults in love with love fickle rest
But whenever you claim of true youth in your veins
Whenever say not I that I am old?
Remind you of love best characters of strength and sooth
And age in love? You mock
Loves not the years to be told
Hush to that false talk I listen no more
Nor shall I grieve for the betrayal in love done
Roses have thorns and fresh fountains mud
Cloud and eclipses stain both moon and sun
And the loathsome canker in the sweetest bud dwell
All mankind makes faults which they never tell
I shall not wear pretentious cloths not of my measure
To authorize your trespass with a moral compare
To excuse sins more than what they are
Is a sin itself
But against your sensual fault I try to bring sense
Your adverse playful nature is your advocator
The love we cherish and nourish at our youth
Will stay with us at old age to sooth
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Love's Logic [Couplet Sonnet]
The more ways I find to express my love,
The more I love you, and the better for love,
And more: What more than seek such ways to it;
Expressing love (and therefore to do it) .
And if my love should make me false I would,
For better no false-love than mere falsehood.
How then is love (which others call) more proved
Than mine is? And not merely false-love's truth?
Where love's logic meets between false or not
No arguments have heard but have forgot
That love is truth - and none is love more false
Than proof; So this I swear on life and pulse:
That infinite love's true call expresses
Love is something more than proof professes.
-September 20 2005
poem by David Zvekic
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Temptation lurks
There is a pleasure in unploughed fields and in pathless woods
There is rapture and boyish excitement on lonely pebbled shore
There is freedom where none intrudes
The deep moving sea and the music in its roar
I love not my lover the less, but whole humanity more
Especially the feminine walking creatures; the look I steal
From all the beauties in crowded streets and fashion stores
They are like blossom of fresh flowers in throngs
Of dull existence; weeds of insipid wild thorns
To be with them all; among them whole and feel
what I can never express, yet cannot from within conceal
And yet, the expense of dignity is in the waste of shame
When lust is in action, how long does action last
Is it not perjured, murderous, bloody, irreversible damage full of defame
Indeed it is savage, extreme, rude a habit not to trust
All this is well known, yet none knows well
To shun temptation that leads men to shame and to hell
Who but fool to enjoy the fresh flesh which no sooner despised straight
It skips reason warnings and sooner had
Reason and logic hated as it swallowed the bait
A tempestuous bait on purpose made to make the taker mad
Wild and obsessed in pursue and in possession
In zeal and in delirium for the next adulterous session
A bliss in question that breeds lies and counterfeits vast as the sea sand
A world to collapse, the slightest true wind blow it would not stand
So let not my love in adultery be called
She is kind, fair and true
Fair, kind, and true so often lived alone in none
This triumvirate until I knew my love never kept a seat in one
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Tell thee truth, sweet; no
TELL thee truth, sweet; no.
Truth is cross and sad and cold:
Lies are pitiful and kind,
Honey-soft as Love's own tongue:
Let me, love, lie so.
Lies are like a summer wind,
Wooing flower-buds to unfold
Lies will last while men are young.
Tell thee truth, love; no.
Let me, sweet, lie so.
Lies are Hope's light ministers,
Footless birds upon the wing:
Truth's a name for plodding care:
Tell thee truth, sweet; no.
Truth's the east wind on the Spring—
'Tis the wind, not Spring-time, errs.
Lies will last while maids are fair.
Let me lie, love, so.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Just One More Sonnet 138!
Substitute a modern version of Sonnet 138?
We get enough false-speaking tongues posted
where simple truth is suppressed
and vitriolic bile is expressed!
His days may be past the best,
if truth were told,
but the baritone sings on
oblivious and proud!
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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False Truth
False truth
Just like a word that says
Love will always find the way
No matter how hard
No matter how much
I want to hear what i want
I want to see what i like
As simple as that
Yet it's impossible to be done
Because it's just a false truth
That would never be found
A personal satisfaction within
Called ''Happiness''
Let it slide
Begone for tomorrow
Because when it's the time
You'll learn and see
That truth is just a truth
A fact that simply
Without false
And without doubt…
poem by Alva Cross
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My lover and I
When the ever resilient nightingale to his date
Chirrups his songs day long and night late
My love and I keep our sweet state
In the lush and balmy bower
Of varieties bursting blooming flowers
Sweetening with love chat the fresh young air
All day from rose cheeked morning till dusk we are there
Till the watchman guarding in the tower
Announces the approaching close hour
The gored vermilion sun sank in the West
And the night rests on canopies and on crests
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Fair is my love from far
Fair is my love from far, but she is far from being fair
She is fickle, her nature is false and her character full of frauds.
No beauties can compensate for such flaws!
Yet her face; her face is so divine without the touch of impurity
She is mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty
Brighter than glass, and yet as glass she is brittle
A soul softer than wax, and yet as iron rusty
A lily pale skin, with damask dye to grace her clad
None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.
Her lips how often she to truth and to logic she joined
Between each of her oaths of true love swearing
How many tales to please the truth she coined,
Dreading the truth, the loss of love and strength still fearing
Yet amid of all her pure protesting
Her faith in love, her oaths of the truth were all jesting.
She burned with love, as straw with fire flames
She burned herself out of true love as soon as straw out burns
She framed her feign love, and she foiled the framing
She forlorn with phantom of love, dark shadows and foul fair
She bade love last, and fell into a bust
Is he a lover last, he that inflicts pains in caress
Agony in soft whisper
A lecher, a vampire of the soul whichever
Bad in the best, though excellent in neither
What for me in all of that, any aspiration? Any goal?
Old, crumpling tattered soul
Do not look at the mirror tonight
For I profoundly hate thee for you keen sight
Rest; take your sleep in the tempest of the night
No comport will lay by your pillow
After such an acid, such a poison spilled by your ink
You awakened sleeping devils, released bottle of imps
O stay at the table! Cried the lines I wrote
We have no power to let her read love by rote
And watch her not able to spell
For her soul is enthralled by the devil of hell
I watched the silver moon plays upon glassy streams
Twinkle another counterfeit beam
How she can not tell
Foul from fair and fair from foul
So seems her gorgeous beauty to mine eyes
But I see her mind full of foul and follies
Fain shall I try to woo her wit, yet again? I dare not speak
Let me back for a pen and an ink I shall rather write my mind
Cowards have no tongue no character
Their comfort is in hide their pride is in hypocrisy
Is she not here?
Will you be daunted at the woman’s sight?
Beauty’s princely majesty is such
That it confounds the tongue
And makes the senses rough and the mind blur
Can such a villain woo such a virtuous woman?
Can she thus be won?
What side of the bed?
I shall rest my exploding head
My body is in flames of pains
Oh let it not start again!
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Love at wonder
Shall I tempt to wonder, by my inner truth, that you and I
Whatever we did when we loved, have we now this daring treasure
Weaned from it; obsolete, out of passionate greed by any measure
And all other flesh desire when we daily sucked on lusty pleasure
If ever any beauty I did quest or I did see in any shape or hue
Which I desired, and got, in plenty queues,
It was but an only dream of you
All other pseudo loves I adamantly deny and rue
And now it is a good morning to our waking souls,
Which we watch one another out of regret and fear
Counting and tallying our love tolls
Wondering how love us betrayed; how it flew us out of controls
Yet I do wonder in my soul that our love,
Exceeds and controls, all love of other sights
And makes one little room, an everywhere precious light.
Let cede discoveries to new worlds we have gone above,
Let map to ourselves the worlds no one have known or shown,
Let us possess our world; each has one and is one
Look love my face in your eyes, yours in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces calm soothing rest;
Where can we find two better hemispheres,
Without sharp North, without declining West?
Remember the days I used to observe you from far
As the moon woos the earth among the watching stars
Whatever dies, was not attended uniformly with care;
If our two loves be one; or you and I
Love so alike that none does relax or slacken, none can die.
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Your Heart Could Never Conceive
Do you ever look in the mirror and see your shame?
Do you stop ever assessing it, and take the blame?
Do you ever take responsibility for the acts you have taken-
For the falsity created, or the love you've forsaken?
You tried, in vane, to create a monster out of me,
Alas, the monster created, is in the mirror and you now see!
Shame and remorse should be your daily companion,
I am sure, if you're honest, you share my opinion!
Leave the monster, both real and false, behind-
Cast all fear aside, from your heart and mind!
Your mind told you not to believe
What your heart could never conceive!
The battle waged: truth versus deceit;
Truth hails victorious-fear and lies lay in defeat!
Maurice Harris,5 March 2008
poem by Maurice Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cold Day Hot Poetry
Cold day hot poetry
Truth is here
With false sorry.
Poetry is true
World is false
This is not my story.
Words are not under my control
It is word I
That is to see.
I care not what you say
I care only truth and truth
And truth that only I say.
Excuse me if I am not able to touch
But I have got a lot of love
To you all living and non-living
I Love you and I seek your blessing.
I am hopeful and this world is wonderful
My wife is beautiful and my work is successful
You are my grand master and life is nectar-full.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Song From Amphitryon
Air Iris I love, and hourly I die,
But not for a lip, nor a languishing eye:
She's fickle and false, and there we agree,
For I am as false and as fickle as she.
We neither believe what either can say;
And, neither believing, we neither betray.
'Tis civil to swear, and say things of course;
We mean not the taking for better or worse.
When present, we love; when absent, agree:
I think not of Iris, nor Iris of me.
The legend of love no couple can find,
So easy to part, or so equally join'd.
poem by John Dryden
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The gloom of an hour
I have at times gnawing fears that my days may soon cease to be
Before my quill has exhausted itself in teeming my brain,
Before my high-piled books, in character, and in gallantry
Hold like rich wheat, the full ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night's vault starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high youthful and fresh romance,
This blessed moon lending its sheen where I shall never trace
Its shadows, with the magic hand of zeal, rapture and chance;
And when I feel the air of a fair creature in the gloom of an hour,
That I shall never look upon or company my kinsmen more,
Never have relish in the fiery power and emotional tower
Of unreflecting love; youth on echoing dunes of an isolated shore
Of this stage wide world a human stands alone, and thinks
Where are all love moments and banners of praise
The human soul they try to cherish and to raise
No answer; his love collapses forgotten; his fame to nothingness sinks.
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Fair Iris I Love and Hourly I Die
Fair Iris I love and hourly I die,
But not for a lip nor a languishing eye:
She's fickle and false, and there I agree;
For I am as false and as fickle as she:
We neither believe what either can say;
And, neither believing, we neither betray.
'Tis civil to swear and say things, of course;
We mean not the taking for better or worse.
When present we love, when absent agree;
I think not of Iris, nor Iris of me:
The legend of love no couple can find
So easy to part, or so equally join'd.
poem by John Dryden
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The man who loves a coquette
Why lost man
Your heart is sour with complain
Over this pretty damsel’s distain
Why thus let your despair
Yields hellish chest tare
For months you may fret
But this will not get you your coquette
Ah! How can you teach her to love
Frustration compel you to ask
As time runs out to spin and to rove
It is not easy and simple task
At first they all frown like a house pet
But leave her alone for a while
She shortly will show you her smile
And you may sit or stroll by your coquette
For such are the fickle airs
Of love and flirt mingling in fanciful fairs
In king’s palace or in a cave-man lair
They all think our homage is merely in debt
Fulfill it with projection
Without a touch of neglect
And as you show your strive for perfection
Soon takes the effect
And humbles down the proudest coquette
Dismantle your thick thought brain
Dissemble your pain
And lengthen your chain
Let her think she is using you
False or true
Let her self conviction be in taking advantage
It will all be to your vantage
And show her what a banter she may regret
If now you sigh
She can no longer deny
And you may caper in your coquette chamber
And still if out of false women pride
Your panting pangs she may deride
Be brave and full of thoughts and conceit
The trail is on; hold the raging thorns tight
Let not this untutored whimsical girl forget
That you have other admirers
Who would melt in your fire
That no one but you
Who can quench their burning desire
And thus laugh at you little coquette
Take an advice from me I adore
Some twenty or even more
And loved them most dearly but yet
Though my heart they captured in an enthrall
I will abandon them all
Did they act like your capricious coquette
Young loves’ woes no time now to think
If your love to your arms you want to bring
Idol thoughts will make you sink
With no solution or a link
No longer repine
Adopt this design
And break through her defiance fence
No longer despair
No longer anguish care
Now you may kiss your captious coquette
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Sonnet: Give Up Your Lies
How far can lies take you in life on earth?
The more you say, the more you can't avoid;
Nor lies can give a person real mirth;
And lies once said can't become 'null and void'.
Cut off the habit at the earliest,
Lest clouds dense-black of punishment still loom;
'Tis best to learn to be always honest;
Nip off the urge bud-like 'fore it can bloom.
Free is the mind that airs its heart by Truth;
The peace it gives is worth the efforts made;
Oh, learn to speak the Truth right from your youth;
The glory God bestows, can never fade.
The things that lies can win you- are for now;
When Truth is God, why don't men learn to love?
poem by John Celes
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The Lying Truth
How do we know we are speaking the truth.
Because we got it from a 'reliable' source,
And who told you it was a 'reliable' source.
Ha, Is there any thing that is really called the truth.
For, every 'truth' told in this twisted and sinister world,
A lie is invented, concocted, told.
And when a question is asked, and the truth is required,
And if told, many events, considered dire,
Happen in response,
A white lie is told.
But the whitest lie, considered the truthful lie,
Thought up by those considered wise and selfless,
Is really the darkest, blackest, most deceiving lies of all.
Over time stories, true stories, turn to myths, myths to legends.
so why not lies, white lies too.
Centuries, years, maybe even weeks and days,
Turns the most deceiving and evil lies into the 'truth'.
So I come back to my original question,
But don't misconstrue my words,
For I dear not defy the truth,
The truth, so rare, that passes us unnoticed, unseen, undetected,
The rare truth that exists in this dark, sinister world.
So yes,
How do we know we are speaking the truth.
The truth, the truth, the lie.
poem by Michael Devenish
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The 'Truth
How do we know we are speaking the truth.
Because we got it from a 'reliable' source,
And who told you it was a 'reliable' source.
Ha, Is there any thing that is really called the truth.
For, every 'truth' told in this twisted and sinister world,
A lie is invented, concocted, told.
And when a question is asked, and the truth is required,
And if told, many events, considered dire,
Happen in response,
A white lie is told.
But the whitest lie, considered the truthful lie,
Thought up by those considered wise and selfless,
Is really the darkest, blackest, most deceiving lies of all.
Over time stories, true stories, turn to myths, myths to legends.
so why not lies, white lies too.
Centuries, years, maybe even weeks and days,
Turns the most deceiving and evil lies into the 'truth'.
So I come back to my original question,
But don't misconstrue my words,
For I dear not defy the truth,
The truth, so rare, that passes us unnoticed, unseen, undetected,
The rare truth that exists in this dark, sinister world.
So yes,
How do we know we are speaking the truth.
The truth, the truth, the lie.
poem by Michael Devenish
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