She
She never left the comfortableness of forty plus
Although her look is progressing to the point of collapse
Sometimes she may be seen in a dark cafe or flickering bars
Legs crossed; top buttons loose to announce the world her love scars
Some men of the past; some more than few
Knew her under better skies hue
To call themselves the noble term husband
But they all disappeared the relationships did not stand
Especially to one lover she is gone, the cruel fair;
For him she cast not back a look of pitying eye:
But left her lover to sink in desolate despair
To sigh, to languish, like a flower to wilt and to die:
Ah! how can those fair eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure?
To him she was the great Goddess of love that made
A face that can all hearts control and command
That all religions and cultures can invade
And easily change and reverse every law of the land
Where has such power been placed before
She should have mercy on him the more
Now lonely and lovely she is strolling in the market place
Carrying a basket of fashion to emphasize her waning grace
And still she steals whistles and shrieks from creatures standing by
Which she absorb in hidden content and with victorious sigh
Upon her head she wares a hat with a modest wreath
From whence her veil reaches to the side walk beneath
No one can tell her veil is artificial flowers or genuine leaves
Whose craftsmen either way left all beguiled by a total deceive
Many will praise the sweet smell as she passes
Is it her natural scent, a perfume, or her breath she casts
A kind of smell that the honey bee seek in vain
They would pursue it in high winds and tumultuous rain
About her chest hangs chain of crafted pebblestone
which is lightened by her neck like diamonds are shone
She never wares gloves, for neither sun nor wind
would burn or parch such skin on hands that make birds sing
What is her substance, from which she is made
that millions of strange shadow hues on her tend
Since everyone reflects one and only one shade
But she? She can every shadow of the rainbow lend
There are those who were lucky to observe her from close
To see a beauty beauteous framed in web of winkles and lines
As if by now is spared and skipped by years and by time
This beauty is preserved as in a book rests an eternal rose
Copy rights 2010
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Related quotes
Song to a Fair Young Lady
Ask not the cause why sullen Spring
So long delays her flowers to bear;
Why warbling birds forget to sing,
And winter storms invert the year:
Chloris is gone; and fate provides
To make it Spring where she resides.
Chloris is gone, the cruel fair;
She cast not back a pitying eye:
But left her lover in despair
To sigh, to languish, and to die:
Ah! how can those fair eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure?
Great God of Love, why hast thou made
A face that can all hearts command,
That all religions can invade,
And change the laws of every land?
Where thou hadst placed such power before,
Thou shouldst have made her mercy more.
When Chloris to the temple comes,
Adoring crowds before her fall;
She can restore the dead from tombs
And every life but mine recall,
I only am by Love designed
To be the victim for mankind.
poem by John Dryden
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Song To A Fair Young Lady Going Out Of Town In The Spring
1.
Ask not the cause why sullen spring
So long delays her flowers to bear;
Why warbling birds forget to sing,
And winter storms invert the year;
Chloris is gone, and Fate provides
To make it spring where she resides.
2.
Chloris is gone, the cruel fair;
She cast not back a pitying eye;
But left her lover in despair,
To sigh, to languish, and to die:
Ah, how can those fair eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure!
3.
Great god of love, why hast thou made
A face that can all hearts command,
That all religions can invade,
And change the laws of every land?
Where thou hadst plac'd such pow'r before,
Thou shouldst have made her mercy more.
4.
When Chloris to the temple comes,
Adoring crowds before her fall;
She can restore the dead from tombs,
And ev'ry life but mine recall.
I only am by love designed
To be the victim for mankind.
poem by John Dryden
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ask not the cause why sullen spring
Ask not the cause why sullen spring
So long delays her flow'rs to bear;
Why warbling birds forget to sing,
And winter storms invert the year?
Chloris is gone; and Fate provides
To make it spring where she resides.
Chloris is gone, the cruel fair;
She cast not back a pitying eye:
But left her lover in despair,
To sigh, to languish, and to die:
Ah, how can those fair eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure!
Great god of Love, why hast thou made
A face that can all hearts command,
That all religions can invade,
And change the laws of ev'ry land?
Where thou hadst plac'd such pow'r before,
Thou shouldst have made her mercy more.
When Chloris to the temple comes,
Adoring crowds before her fall;
She can restore the dead from tombs,
And ev'ry life but mine recall.
I only am by love design'd
To be the victim for mankind.Credits and CopyrightTogether with the editors, the Department ofEnglish (University of Toronto), and the University of Toronto Press,the following individuals share copyright for the work that wentinto this edition:Screen Design (Electronic Edition): Sian Meikle (University ofToronto Library)Scanning: Sharine Leung (Centre for Computing in the Humanities)
poem by John Dryden
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The willow
How beautiful is the willow in April gown
Delicate and gleaming under the sun
Never minding the seasons and years gone
It stands, long flowery drippings and soft wind sigh
Spring does not call me as it use to
With sprouts in vast meadows and balmy flowers of variety hues
No more shall I renew myself with the world every spring
With heavy leafy boughs crowded with birds in sing
Willow, Willow sway, twinkle, lull in the sun
Your leaves, same leaves of my past days gone
Welcome me as the spring use to in wild laugh and fun
Oh let me answer the spring again for my days are still undone
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Where Your First Rose?
Someone use to remember loved once after many years (first rose-First love) that we never forget. Looking for it again hence nothing can accomplishes first love. Time has changed every things...
____________________________________ ______________________
Where your first rose?
Where your first rose?
I know you looking for it
But you cannot find...
Where your first rose?
I know you having forget it
Somewhere that you don’t know...
Where your first rose?
Hiding some where
You cannot ever reach...
Where your first rose?
Beneath someone heart
That you don’t know the person...
Where your first rose?
That cherish for ever
You forget to rescue it...
Where your first rose?
That you need to smell it
But you didn’t...
Where your first rose?
Smell like angels perfume
You once smell...
Where your first rose?
That you looking every where
Run away from you...
Where your first rose?
That born together in every soul
But you chased away...
Where your first rose?
That gives you happiness
Forever and forever...
Where your first rose?
That you kissed it every day
When you have it...
Where your first rose?
That you still looking for it
After many years left by...
Where your first rose?
That gives you every thing
Warm, happiness and true love...
Where your first rose?
That only dedicated you
By a true angel on earth...
Where your first rose?
You will have it never
Again with jealous eyes...
Where your first rose?
That gives to you
Behalf of true love...
Where your first rose?
That’s become a disappear
After you say no...
Where your first rose?
That has an ocean deep of value
You value it forever...
Where your first rose?
Away from you now
That’s you call every day...
Where your first rose?
You call by dreams
But really cannot touch...
Where your first rose?
You call by name
But didn’t hear your voice...
Where your first rose?
Whispering with you
Every nights and days...
Where your first rose?
That sung a songs ever nights
To lullaby...
Where your first rose?
That you don’t know
where its still...
That’s with me
By
O.W.Palitha Ariyarathna
Copyright, O.W. Palitha Ariyarathna.2010
All Rights Reserved By Author: 2010
poem by Palitha Ariyarathna
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Lovely One
Lovely one,
Just as on the cool stone
Of the spring, the water
Opens a wide flash of foam,
So is the smile of your face,
Lovely one.
Lovely one,
With delicate hands and slender feet
Like a silver pony,
Walking, flower of the world,
Thus I see you,
Lovely one.
Lovely one,
With a nest of copper entangled
On your head, a nest
The coloUr of dark honey
Where my heart burns and rests,
Lovely one.
Lovely one,
Your eyes are too big for your face,
Your eyes are too big for the earth.
There are countries, there are rivers,
In your eyes,
My country is your eyes,
I walk through them,
They light the world
Through which I walk,
Lovely one.
Lovely one,
Your breasts are like two loaves made
Of grainy earth and golden moon,
Lovely one.
Lovely one,
Your waist,
My arm shaped it like a river when
It flowed a thousand years through your sweet body,
Lovely one.
Lovely one,
There is nothing like your hips,
Perhaps earth has
In some hidden place
The curve and the fragrance of your body,
Perhaps in some place,
Lovely one.
Lovely one, my lovely one,
Your voice, your skin, your nails,
Lovely one, my lovely one,
Your being, your light, your shadow,
Lovely one,
All that is mine, lovely one,
All that is mine, my dear,
When you walk or rest,
When you sing or sleep,
When you suffer or dream,
Always,
When you are near or far,
Always,
You are mine, my lovely one,
Always.
poem by Pablo Neruda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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A Legend Of Tintagel Castle
ALONE in the forest, Sir Lancelot rode
O'er the neck of his courser the reins lightly flowed
And beside hung his helmet, for bare was his brow
To meet the soft breeze that was fanning him now.
And 'the flowers of the forest' were many and sweet,
Which, crushed at each step by his proud courser's feet,
Gave forth all their fragrance, while thick over-head
The boughs of the oak and the elm-tree were spread.
The wind stirred its branches, as if its low suit
Were urged, like a lover who wakens the lute,
And through the dark foliage came sparkling and bright
Like rain from the green leaves, in small gems of light.
There was stillness, not silence, for dancing along,
A brook went its way like a child with a song;
Now hidden, where rushes and water-flags grow;
Now clear, while white pebbles were glistening below.
Lo, bright as a vision, and fair as a dream,
The face of a maiden is seen in the stream;
With her hair like a mantle of gold to her knee,
Stands a lady as lovely as lady can be.
Short speech tells a love-tale;—the bard's sweetest words
Are poor, beside those which each memory hoards;
Sound of some gentle whisper, the haunting and low,
Such as love may have murmured—ah, long, long ago.
She led him away to an odorous cave,
Where the emerald spars shone like stars in the wave,
And the green moss and violets crowded beneath,
And the ash at the entrance hung down like a wreath.
They might have been happy, if love could but learn
A lesson from some flowers, and like their leaves turn
Round their own inward world, their own lone fragrant nest,
Content with its sweetness, content with its rest.
But the sound of the trumpet was heard from afar,
And Sir Lancelot rode forth again to the war;
And the wood-nymph was left as aye woman will be,
Who trusts her whole being, oh, false love, to thee.
For months, every sunbeam that brightened the gloom,
She deemed was the waving of Lancelot's plume;
She knew not of the proud and the beautiful queen,
Whose image was treasured as hers once had been.
There was many a fair dame, and many a knight,
Made the banks of the river like fairy-land bright;
And among those whose shadow was cast on the tide,
Was Lancelot kneeling at Genevra's side.
With purple sails heavily drooping around
The mast, and the prow, with the vale lily bound;
And towed by two swans, a small vessel drew near
But high on the deck was a pall-covered bier.
They oared with their white wings, the bark thro' the flood,
Till arrived at the bank where Sir Lancelot stood:
A wind swept the river, and flung back the pall,
And there lay a lady, the fairest of all.
But pale as a statue, like sunshine on snow,
The bright hair seemed mocking the cold face below:
Sweet truants, the blush and the smile both are fled—
Sir Lancelot weeps as he kneels by the dead.
And these are love's records; a vow and a dream,
And the sweet shadow passes away from life's stream:
Too late we awake to regret—but what tears
Can bring back the waste to our hearts and our years?
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Change
She leaned out into the soft June weather,
With her long loose tresses the night breeze played;
Her eyes were as blue as the bells on the heather:
Oh, what is so fair as a fair young maid!
She folded her hands, like the leaves of a lily,
'My life, ' she said, 'is a night in June,
Fair and quiet, and calm and stilly;
Bring me a change, O changeful moon!
'Who would drift on a lake forever?
Young hearts weary - it is not strange,
And sigh for the beautiful bounding river;
New moon, true moon, bring me a change! '
The rose that rivalled her maiden blushes
Dropped from her breast, at a strangers feet;
Only a glance; but the hot blood rushes
To mantle a fair face, shy and sweet.
To and fro, while the moon is waning,
They walk, and the stars shine on above;
And one is in earnest, and one is feigning -
Oh, what is so sweet as a sweet young love?
A young life crushed, and a young heart broken,
A bleak wind blows through the lovely bower,
And all that remains of the love vows spoken -
Is the trampled leaf of a faded flower.
The night is dark, for the moon is failing -
And what is so pale as a pale old moon?
Cold is the wind through the tree tops wailing -
Woe that the change should come so soon.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Mystical Rose, Pray For Us!
O aptly named, Illustrious One!
Thou art that flower fair
That filled this vast and changeful world
With mystic perfume rare—
Shedding on all the balmy breath
Of countless virtues high,
Rising like fragrant odours rich,
To God’s far, beauteous sky.
Mystical Rose! O aptly named!
For, as ’mid brightest flowers
The lovely Rose unquestioned reigns
The Queen of Nature’s bowers,
So ’mid the daughters fair of Eve
Art thou the peerless One!
The chosen handmaid of the Lord!
The Mother of His Son!
Yes, He endowed thee with all gifts
Which could thy beauty grace;
And ne’er did sin, e’en for one hour,
Thy spotless soul deface,
For from the first thou had’st the power
God’s fav’ring love to win;
It was His will that thou should’st be
Conceived devoid of sin.
Oh, Mother dear, obtain for us
That we from evil flee;
Throughout this, fleeting life’s career
Mayst thou our model be!
Seek we to imitate the gifts
That thy pure soul adorn—
Sweet flower of beauty and of grace!
Fair Rose without a thorn!
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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Why love the moon?
Why love the moon?
Because she is fair?
Because she seems so debonair?
The moon you love lives away so far,
She left you long ago for the stars;
For which in her insecurities she has prevailed,
As she hides behind her silver veil.
Why love the moon?
Because she shines?
Because you think her beauty divine?
The face she shows is but a play,
There’s another side she never displays;
A side so dark you cannot see,
It’s there she hides her agonies.
Why love the moon?
Because she is there?
Because you think you have her care?
Every month she shows her entire face,
You stare at her beauty and sit in her grace;
But as the days pass she turns to the Sun,
The person who has her eternal love.
The Sun however rejects her again,
So she turns back to you to comfort her pain;
And again you accept her, again and again,
It is your heart she holds,
it has been slain.
So why love the moon,
The Superficial moon,
The Cruel, the Uncaring and Inconsistent moon,
The moon who Scorns you!
The moon who Left you!
The moon who CHEATS WHEN SHE'S BEHIND YOU!
...because you love her.
poem by Warren Chan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Is Love
Love.
Rises above
Colour, religion and creed.
It is unconditional.
It is pain.
Brings some rain.
And we all will bleed.
You cannot trap it.
Do not clap it.
It plays no encore.
It smiles in moonbeams.
Shines in the stars.
Lives in sweet dreams
Or seedy downtown bars.
It moves like the ocean
You will sink beneath its wave.
Your heart a music box,
That fate always locks
And only sweet eyes can save.
Its brightest smile
Left everywhere.
In coolest style.
It scents the evening air.
It is immeasurable
Pleasureable.
It scars
And heals.
It wounds and steals.
But to have loved
Is more than a reason to live.
It may leave
You will grieve.
Yet may return
In lonely night
Like flickering candlelight.
It is patient.
It never dies.
Comes for an instant
With orange sunrise.
When you have lost.
Count the cost.
A heart that's torn.
And a reason to be born.
It is everything.
And all else is nothing.
All is forgotten
But love.
It soothes it cuts.
The music is eternal.
The heartbreak is infernal.
It teaches us to feel.
And steals our hearts
As we reel.
Before it flies.
It keeps no time.
When two hearts rhyme.
It smites
Yet delights.
So, hold her while you can.
Kiss softly her cheek.
- Be a man,
And never seek where passion ran.
Keep your dreams.
And when you sigh
They'll fly your kite
In bluest sky.
If you wait at the gate
Of lonliness
Love may visit with sweet caress.
Or never return.
Life is brief, but love is long.
How long will that candle burn.
poem by Kevin East
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet 53: What is your substance, whereof are you made
What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since everyone hath, every one, one shade,
And you, but one, can every shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you;
On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new.
Speak of the spring, and foison of the year;
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear,
And you in every blessèd shape we know.
In all external grace you have some part,
But you like none, none you, for constant heart.
poem by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I passed by the place where you abode
I passed by the place where you abode
Where lofty trees and ivy-beds grow a lot
I left some flowers by the door
And I carved some verses on the wall
The sweet flowers field I plucked and banded
Will wilt and fade away unwedded
It shall not give birth to an heir
Which bears forth its reflection and glare
These lovely cups are doomed to die
While with riotous colors your door sill dye
Their beauty to captive your love serves
As my royal on their mission stand brave
Their soft silken balmy lap is a sacrifice
To entrap a higher beauty and my anguish to pacify
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Our Land
Our land of Australia, this country so wide,
Where on holidays, you can find somewhere to hide;
Away from the noise, to the county, or the sea side,
A place to call home awhile, watch the incoming tide.
Our Land is made of states, and mountains so high,
Where you can climb, watch the scenes, and give a sigh;
The vastness as you look around, and thank the good Lord,
For His creation, of beauty, then I see as I read His Word,
Our land of creatures, wild, fauna, roaming so free,
And the many colours, of the creatures that my eyes do see;
From the large emu, to the tiniest lizard, crawling near me,
I then thank the good Lord, these things were meant to be.
Our land of mountains, and the rivers and sea that's here,
The flora spread around, their colors so close and near.
Reminds me of the rainbow, and Gods promise so dear,
That God made creation for us, with His Love, takes away fear.
Our land of many places, and a nation to behold,
To think of the trees standing tall, some very old;
And then in the ground, we find some beauty, as Gold,
But then look at the brave hearts of a patient, who is Bold.
Our land so big, Yet from a plane so very high,
Looks so tiny, like ants, crawling all by;
Look at the fish, swimming around, in the sea, oh I sigh,
Thank you Dear Lord, for everything, I've seen by and by.
poem by Margaret Haig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Old nymph
Old nymph guarding your gracious mirror you may find
And by this taunting picture learn to dress your mind
None of your frowns can make a tender lover afraid
Soft looks of memory grace your unfortunate shade
And while your gaze at what your prime used to appear
Waning passion forbid; locking your tears
Like narcissus has a different fate to prove
Even your walk and your gait are out of your past moves
And my verse has not this powerful rhyme
That outlives marble and gilded monuments
Of kings and knights to let you shine in these contents
When lying beneath unswept tomb besmeared with sluttish time
For against death and other all oblivious enmity
It offers no pace forth where your praise can find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wears and tares our world down to doom
So live temporally like a season flower
In the judgment that your generation rises
And die with this not to eternally dwell in lovers' eyes
With my verse in shallow river bed to rush never to tower
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To the century plant
Plant of a hundred years! destroying Time
Passes thy gentle race with hurrying trend,
Leaves their bright petals colorless and dim,
Strews with their withered leaves the mossy bed,
And sweeps them onward with the countless dead,
Ere the swift passing of the summer hour --
But, beauteous flower, above thy towering head
An age hath passed and left no trace of power:
Plant of a hundred years, thou seem'st Time's favorite flower!
I would that he had passed less lightly o'er thee,
And on thy polished leaves some record made,
Of all the scenes that long since passed before thee,
When round thee waved a forest, in whose shade
The Indian lover wooed his dusky maid, --
When the red warriors lit their council fires,
As peal'd the war-cry over hill and glade,
And then in triumph raised the funeral pyre
Of the ill-fated captive, bride, or son, or sire.
Alas, fair flower! they've vanished from the earth,
That wronged and injured race, and none are here
Of all the friends that knew thee at thy birth, --
No longer near thee rests the wearied deer,
Thy sister flowers have faded with each year;
Still thou remainest, though they all have flown,
Like some strange being from another sphere,
Or like some aged man, sad and alone, --
May I not linger here, when those I love are gone!
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Two beneath a shady tree
They were two beneath a shady tree cover
An old oak tree with blistered trunk and bark failing over
Like the hand of an old man with frail eyes
Yet leaves and fresh sprouts from its boughs shot to the skies
An old sturdy oak tree under summer sun
In mid of golden wheat clustered by the wind run
The waves of the wheat heads combed by gale and breeze
As the two set and made themselves at calm ease
They set and watched the golden field swaying in dance
The broken roar and the dim din of a remote city at horizon glance
She was beautiful and shy like a violet by a mossy wall stone
She set by him hidden and through his eyes she was only his own
They set beneath the tree, their life yet untrodden path
They spoke the first verses of love with joy and laugh
What was to come they knew not; merely the glory of that hour to bear
since they were innocent and pure; the masters of the days that were
They gathered roses from the field while they may
Unaware of old time that was still to carry them flying
A world so harsh where love grows and fleets away
They fell to play losing no time in grieving and sighing
And so they sat beneath an old oak before the sun in dusky skies
veiled his fair locks of child hair while he did spy
The unclouded luster that dwelled in her slaying eyes
Her bashful beauties once descried
The vanquished flowers around lost their pride
And in their vermilion buds their blushing they did hide
Losing their balmy fresh summer smell
They would never admit or tell
How much her sweets by far their own did excel.
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Traveling through the orbits of love
Traveling through the orbits of love
You always followed me
Hiding yourself behind hideous secrets
The tedious question I always asked
At mid way meeting as train pulled in
Who is the one you love?
With whom your soul yearn to be
Are you ready to accept me hence?
From all my mad habits I recovered
It took me a long pause to ask
It last more for you to answer
The train pulled out
The earth beneath me trembled
My world darkened on me
So strange you did not stay
So inhabitant is the station without you
Against trifle and ecstasy that we knew
Love is the remedy
Hidden thoughts meaningless words
Again iterate the question
Who is the one you love
Would you love me?
Would you accept me?
Since I shelled my old rascal skin
So I contemplate while lying in bed
You where no where to answer
I waited long in cold bed for reply
My heart pulled out of my chest
The earth beneath the bed shock
So strange you are not here
So lonely the world is without you
So deafen is the air clear
Who is the one you love
With whom you will be
The freighted earth shook
The mad lighting shot
The birds to the air took
So strange you are not
And I am abandoned in the knot
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Shall I ever let
Shall I ever let my fancy and dream to roam
To bring this rare pleasure and conjure it back home
At touch this pleasure and memory melts
Like bubbles of water when the rain pelts
Nature has withhold Catherine beauty across the wide skies
What an adornment for the human eyes for next thousands of years
She has taken their cream of beauty, fairest dyes
And shaped and tinted sweet Catherine above all peers
When I behold her on the earth descend
My heart begins to throb and to burn; only in pains
This is my fancy and dreams that melt and vanish; my sad life's end
Love has poured her slaying beauty into my veins
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