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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Related quotes
There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar I love not Man the less, but Nature more.
There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not Man the less, but Nature more.
quote by George Byron
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Is Pleasure In The Pathless Woods
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
The Lonely Woods
in the lonely woods i'm lost
surrounded by shards of frost
is there a path i haven't crossed?
no. yet in the lonely woods i'm lost
in the lonely woods at night
trapped and locked up in deep fright
no movement, no heat and no light
just the sound of my breath in the lonely
woods
poem by Jonathan Fabianski
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The Dark, Blue Sea
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.-
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean-roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin-his control
Stops with the shore;-upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,
When for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.
His steps are not upon thy paths-thy fields
Are not a spoil for him-thou dost arise
And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields
For earth's destruction thou dost all despise,
Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies,
And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray,
And howling, to his gods, where haply lies
His petty hope in some near port or bay,
And dashest him again to earth: there let him lay.
The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
And monarchs tremble in their capitals,
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
Their clay creator the vain title take
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war;
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar
Alike the armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.
Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee-
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?
Thy waters washed them power while they were free,
And many a tyrant since: their shores obey
The stranger, slave or savage; their decay
Has dried up realms to deserts:-not so thou,
Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves' play-
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow-
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time
Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark-heaving; boundless, endless and sublime-
The image of eternity-the throne
Of the invisible; even from out thy slime
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone
Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
And I have loved thee, ocean! And my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy
I wanton'd with thy breakers-they to me
Were a delight; and if the freshening sea
Made them a terror-'twas a pleasing fear,
For I was as it were a child of thee,
And trusted to thy billows far and near,
And laid my hand upon thy mane - as I do here.
The lonely woods
In the lonely woods do I roam,
I get a good glimpse of everything,
when I walk through the lonely woods, and a sad song I sing.
I see a pretty bird's wing,
so beautiful, so shiny, like that of a silver ring.
I walk near a small stream,
and when I am tired, I stop near it, sleep and dream.
All around me is silence, there is no hatred and there is no violence.
this is what I like in the woods, the lonely woods,
so silent, so calm,
to me, the trees, and the animals, there is no harm,
this is the lonely woods.
poem by Savio Vogt
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Lonely Shore
As a I walk along the beach
Tenderness of sadness I feel
The sun up in the sky out of reach
That sets along the lonely shore
Hold me tight to catch
My breath
All along the lonely shore
To reach my dreams
To whom I’ll be
To take me in this journey
You raise me up
When I am sad
And make me shed
Away my tears
Like the water in the sea
You make me smile
Without you I am lonely
Oh wish this day won’t end
But my knees always bend
All of a sudden it will fade
But deep inside
It would be okay
Because I am not
A lonely shore
Anymore
poem by Karima Puzon
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To Erinna
Was Time not harsh to you, or was he kind,
O pale Erinna of the perfect lyre,
That he has left no word of singing fire
Whereby you waked the dreaming Lesbian wind,
And kindled night along the lyric shore?
O girl whose lips Erato stooped to kiss,
Do you go sorrowing because of this
In fields where poets sing forevermore?
Or are you glad and is it best to be
A silent music men have never heard,
A dream in all our souls that we may say:
"Her voice had all the rapture of the sea,
And all the clear cool quiver of a bird
Deep in a forest at the break of day"?
poem by Sara Teasdale
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The Good Soul
Peacefully wandering,
is your good soul,
over the mountains, oceans
and the earth whole
through the villages,
balmy woods and fields,
in the morning breeze,
over the green leaves
moving with the clouds
from place to place,
leaping with the waves
at the shore as they race
sometimes, you sit still,
quietly on a dew,
or on my cheek, you trickle,
in the raindrops few.
poem by Dr Madhavi Grace
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Pleasure Is The Bait
Excitement gives pleasure;
Exploration gives pleasure;
Sexual love gives pleasure.
Pleasures are momentary.
Pleasure can peak the happiness
Or cause the valley of sorrow.
Pleasure is the bait one's after
Not minding the after-effects.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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O little year, cram full of duty
O little year, cram full of duty,
Rapture and sorrow, too,
Show me the way from old paths of beauty
Into the fields of dew.
Strange lorn fields where the moon goes riding
Over a lonely sky.
Kind little year, in your onward gliding
Let me not pass them by.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Teaching writing over the years intrudes on your own writing in important ways, taking away some of the excitement of poetry.
quote by Robert Morgan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What is music?
What is music?
Music is the rhythm of the soul
Every beat, every tone, every melody
Is in sync with the natural vibe of your body
What is music?
Music is an outlet, from the everyday
It can take away the pain you feel
Or add to the excitement of a new day
What is music?
Music is something that never changes, just Evolves
Music brings people together of all ages
No matter what you believe in, music brings Common ground
What is music?
Music is my name
Music is who I am
Music is my life
Music is something that can’t be taken away
I will always and forever have MY music
poem by Jessica Cole
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What is music to you?
Music is freedom that relentlessly exists
Freedom of speech
Freedom of thought
Freedom of creativity
Freedom of imagination
Music is ever soothingly healing
A bombardment of on-going expression of feelings
Music is a tool of unity
Always bringing people together as family
Hence be described as a mentor of spirituality
Music is magic
Performing its tricks
With sweet instrumental tones and lyrics
Music is emotionally captivating
Music is positively distracting
Music is a form of beautiful art
Passed on as a message on a public stage
Music is as powerful as water
Flowing in and out of generations
Trapped ever so often only by its own enormous power
Music is an angel
Singing out from the skies as she flies
Music is love
Music is the food of all moods
Music is perfect and it is good for you
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Pleasure XXIV
Then a hermit, who visited the city once a year, came forth and said, "Speak to us of Pleasure."
And he answered, saying:
Pleasure is a freedom song,
But it is not freedom.
It is the blossoming of your desires,
But it is not their fruit.
It is a depth calling unto a height,
But it is not the deep nor the high.
It is the caged taking wing,
But it is not space encompassed.
Ay, in very truth, pleasure is a freedom-song.
And I fain would have you sing it with fullness of heart; yet I would not have you lose your hearts in the singing.
Some of your youth seek pleasure as if it were all, and they are judged and rebuked.
I would not judge nor rebuke them. I would have them seek.
For they shall find pleasure, but not her alone:
Seven are her sisters, and the least of them is more beautiful than pleasure.
Have you not heard of the man who was digging in the earth for roots and found a treasure?
And some of your elders remember pleasures with regret like wrongs committed in drunkenness.
But regret is the beclouding of the mind and not its chastisement.
They should remember their pleasures with gratitude, as they would the harvest of a summer.
Yet if it comforts them to regret, let them be comforted.
And there are among you those who are neither young to seek nor old to remember;
And in their fear of seeking and remembering they shun all pleasures, lest they neglect the spirit or offend against it.
But even in their foregoing is their pleasure.
And thus they too find a treasure though they dig for roots with quivering hands.
But tell me, who is he that can offend the spirit?
Shall the nightingale offend the stillness of the night, or the firefly the stars?
And shall your flame or your smoke burden the wind?
Think you the spirit is a still pool which you can trouble with a staff?
Oftentimes in denying yourself pleasure you do but store the desire in the recesses of your being.
Who knows but that which seems omitted today, waits for tomorrow?
Even your body knows its heritage and its rightful need and will not be deceived.
And your body is the harp of your soul,
And it is yours to bring forth sweet music from it or confused sounds.
And now you ask in your heart, "How shall we distinguish that which is good in pleasure from that which is not good?"
Go to your fields and your gardens, and you shall learn that it is the pleasure of the bee to gather honey of the flower,
But it is also the pleasure of the flower to yield its honey to the bee.
For to the bee a flower is a fountain of life,
And to the flower a bee is a messenger of love,
And to both, bee and flower, the giving and the receiving of pleasure is a need and an ecstasy.
People of Orphalese, be in your pleasures like the flowers and the bees.
poem by Khalil Gibran
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Music is...
Music is...
Music is expression...
Music is freedom...
Music is the song of life...
Music is notes...
Music is noise...
Music is beat...
Music is relaxing...
Music is peace...
Music is loud...
Music is calm...
Music is meaningful...
Music is sound...
Music is heart...
Music is soul...
Music is mind...
Music is body...
Music is nature...
Music is language...
Music is the song of my life...
Music is everything...
Music is me...
Music is....
poem by Madeline anderson
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Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, so do our minutes hasten to their end.
quote by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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City Streets
Music keeps me swinging,
Swinging down big city streets,
Wondering just who I shall meet,
How shall I greet? Who will I defeat?
Following my nose, my excitement grows,
Pavements just come and go,
What do I owe?
How will I know?
Is it too late to grow?
As above so below is all I know,
Gonna reap what you sow!
Rhythm of the street,
Every tune another beat,
Temple Emmanuel, ringing bell,
Nothing to sell,
If only you knew me well!
Heartbeat in a foreign land,
Memories like grains of sand,
Moving through life day by day,
Even when the skies are grey,
Picking up crumbs dropped long ago,
Every little speck, so that I can go!
Gotta keep moving so I can grow!
So when sadness rings it's hollow bell,
And you've got nothing to sell,
Who you gonna tell?
Deep within you can't hear the streets din,
In that stillness, once you've been,
Never to forget what you've seen!
14 June 2012
poem by David Andre' Klopper
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Address To Music
OH thou! whose soft, bewitching lyre,
Can lull the sting of pain to rest;
Oh thou! whose warbling notes inspire,
The pensive muse with visions blest;
Sweet music! let thy melting airs
Enhance my joys, and sooth my cares!
Is there enchantment in thy voice,
Thy dulcet harp, thy moving measure;
To bid the mournful mind rejoice,
To raise the fairy form of pleasure?
Yes, heav'nly maid! a charm is thine,
A magic art, a spell divine!
Sweet music! when thy notes we hear,
Some dear remembrance oft they bring,
Of friends belov'd, no longer near,
And days that flew on rapture's wing;
Hours of delight that long are past,
And dreams of joy, too bright to last!
And oft 'tis thine the soul to fire,
With glory's animating flame,
Bid valor's noble sons aspire
To win th' immortal wreath of fame
Thine too, the soft, expressive tones,
That pity, tender pity owns!
Oh harmony! celestial pow'r!
Thou syren of the melting soul!
In sorrow's reign, in pleasure's hour,
My heart shall own thy blest control;
And ever let thy moving airs,
Enhance my joys and sooth my cares!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Freedom Rises
Freedom rises
Without accords
From our John Hancock’s
Freedom roars
Spread the news
From shore to shore
In an instance
Freedom pours
From words until
All men are created equal
Endowed with inalienable rights
To life liberty and the pursuit of
Happiness
Now floods the barren shores
poem by Brian Kilpatrick
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