Come, Gentle God
Come, gentle God of soft desire,
Come and possess my happy breast,
Not fury-like in flames and fire,
Or frantic folly's wildness dressed;
But come in friendship's angel-guise;
Yet dearer thou than friendship art,
More tender spirit in thy eyes,
More sweet emotions at thy heart.
O, come with goodness in thy train,
With peace and pleasure void of storm,
And wouldst thou me for ever gain,
Put on Amanda's winning form.
poem by James Thomson
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Night Song
WHEN on thy pillow lying,
Half listen, I implore,
And at my lute's soft sighing,
Sleep on! what wouldst thou more?
For at my lute's soft sighing
The stars their blessings pour
On feelings never-dying;
Sleep on! what wouldst thou more?
Those feelings never-dying
My spirit aid to soar
From earthly conflicts trying;
Sleep on! what wouldst thou more?
From earthly conflicts trying
Thou driv'st me to this shore;
Through thee I'm thither flying,--
Sleep on! what wouldst thou more?
Through thee I'm hither flying,
Thou wilt not list before
In slumbers thou art lying:
Sleep on! what wouldst thou more?
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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To Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin
I.
Mine eyes were dim with tears unshed;
Yes, I was firm -- thus wert not thou;--
My baffled looks did fear yet dread
To meet thy looks -- I could not know
How anxiously they sought to shine
With soothing pity upon mine.
II.
To sit and curb the soul's mute rage
Which preys upon itself alone;
To curse the life which is the cage
Of fettered grief that dares not groan,
Hiding from many a careless eye
The scornèd load of agony.
III.
Whilst thou alone, then not regarded,
The thou alone should be,
To spend years thus, and be rewarded,
As thou, sweet love, requited me
When none were near -- Oh! I did wake
From torture for that moment's sake.
IV.
Upon my heart thy accents sweet
Of peace and pity fell like dew
On flowers half dead;-- thy lips did meet
Mine tremblingly; thy dark eyes threw
Their soft persuasion on my brain,
Charming away its dream of pain.
V.
We are not happy, sweet! our state
Is strange and full of doubt and fear;
More need of words that ills abate;--
Reserve or censure come not near
Our sacred friendship, lest there be
No solace left for thee and me.
VI.
Gentle and good and mild thou art,
Nor can I live if thou appear
Aught but thyself, or turn thine heart
Away from me, or stoop to wear
The mask of scorn, although it be
To hide the love thou feel'st for me.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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While many a fond and blooming maid
WHILE many a fond and blooming maid
Attempts thy heart to gain;
And, by thy fatal smile betrayed,
Thinks not she strives in vain:
While in those eyes of tender blue
They answering passion see,
And in thy sweet expression view
The charm that conquered me:....
I still should scorn their winning art,
And be, my Henry, blest,
If thou wouldst give that precious heart
To her who loves thee best.
poem by Amelia Opie
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Song. While many a fond
WHILE many a fond and blooming maid
Attempts thy heart to gain;
And, by thy fatal smile betrayed,
Thinks not she strives in vain:
While in those eyes of tender blue
They answering passion see,
And in thy sweet expression view
The charm that conquered me:....
I still should scorn their winning art,
And be, my Henry, blest,
If thou wouldst give that precious heart
To her who loves thee best.
poem by Amelia Opie
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Ch 05 On Love And Youth Story 14
I had a companion with whom I had travelled for years and eaten salt. Boundless intimacy subsisted between us till at last he suffered my mind to be grieved for the sake of some paltry gain and our friendship closed. Despite of an this, however, mutual attachment of heart still subsisted between us because I heard him one day reciting in an assembly the following two distichs of my composition:
When my sweetheart enters sweetly smiling
She adds more salt to my bleeding wound.
How would it be if the tip of her curls fell into my hand
Like the sleeve of the bountiful into the hands of dervishes?
Some friends bore witness not so much to the gracefulness of these verses as to the beauty of my conduct which they approved; and among the rest, the said friend likewise added his share of praise, regretting the loss of our former companionship and confessing his fault so that his affection became known. Accordingly I sent the following distichs and made peace:
Was not there a covenant of friendship between us?
Thou hast been cruel and not loving.
I once tied my heart to thee, disregarding the world.
Not knowing thou wouldst turn back so soon.
If thou yet desirest conciliation, return
Because thou wilt be more beloved than before.
Thou Swell
Thou swell, thou witty, thou sweet, thou grand
Wouldst kiss me pretty? wouldst hold my hand?
Both thine eyes are cute too, what they do to me
Hear me holler, I choose a sweet lollapaloosa in thee
Id feel so rich in a hut for two
Two rooms and kitchen Im sure would do
Give me just a plot of, not a lot of land
And thou swell, thou witty, thou grand
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thou Swell
Thou swell, thou witty, thou sweet, thou grand
Wouldst kiss me pretty? Wouldst hold my hand?
Both thine eyes are cute too, what they do to me
Hear me holler, I choose a sweet lollapaloosa in thee
I'd feel so rich in a hut for two
Two rooms and kitchen I'm sure would do
Give me just a plot of, not a lot of land
And thou swell, thou witty, thou grand
song performed by by Natalie Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Sophia (Miss Stacey)
I.
Thou art fair, and few are fairer
Of the Nymphs of earth or ocean;
They are robes that fit the wearer--
Those soft limbs of thine, whose motion
Ever falls and shifts and glances
As the life within them dances.
II.
Thy deep eyes, a double Planet,
Gaze the wisest into madness
With soft clear fire,--the winds that fan it
Are those thoughts of tender gladness
Which, like zephyrs on the billow,
Make thy gentle soul their pillow.
III.
If, whatever face thou paintest
In those eyes, grows pale with pleasure,
If the fainting soul is faintest
When it hears thy harp’s wild measure,
Wonder not that when thou speakest
Of the weak my heart is weakest.
IV.
As dew beneath the wind of morning,
As the sea which whirlwinds waken,
As the birds at thunder’s warning,
As aught mute yet deeply shaken,
As one who feels an unseen spirit
Is my heart when thine is near it.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Wilt Thou Take Me For Thy Slave?
Wilt thou take me for thy slave,
With my folly and my love?
Wilt thou take me for the bondsman of thy pride?
Thou who dearer art to me than all the world beside;
For I love thee as no other man can love.
Wilt thou take me to thy soul,
For the truth which thou shalt prove?
Wilt thou clothe me with the riches of thy care?
Thou who dearer art to me than gold and jewels rare;
For I love thee as no other man can love.
Wilt thou take me for thy king,
While the sun and stars shall move?
Wilt thou pay me back the homage I have given?
Oh thou dearer unto me than sun and stars and heaven!
For I love thee as no other man can love.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Thou Swell
(words by lorenz hart, music by richard rodgers)
This lyrics are like performed by natalie cole
Thou swell, thou witty, thou sweet, thou grand
Wouldst kiss me pretty? wouldst hold my hand?
Both thine eyes are cute too, what they do to me
Hear me holler, I choose a sweet lollapaloosa in thee
Id feel so rich in a hut for two
Two rooms and kitchen Im sure would do
Give me just a plot of, not a lot of land
And thou swell, thou witty, thou grand
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet 72: Desire, Though Thou My Old Companion Art
Desire, though thou my old companion art,
And oft so clings to my pure love, that I
One from the other scarcely can descry,
While each doth blow the fire of my heart;
Now from thy felloswhip I needs must part,
Venus is taught with Dian's wings to fly:
I must no more in thy sweet passions lie;
Virtue's gold now must head my Cupid's dart.
Service and honor, wonder with delight,
Fear to offend, will worthy to appear,
Care shining in mine eyes, faith in my sprite:
These things are left me by my only dear;
But thou, Desire, because thou wouldst have all,
Now banish'd art. But yet alas how shall?
poem by Philip Sidney
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Friendship
Friendship
Friendship is love,
Without friendship love means nothing!
Without friendship love is empty…
Without friendship love is boring...!
Friendship means sharing…
People learn to share from friendship,
Share everything they have in life,
Friendship is like stars,
Even though we always see them together
Always mean to each other…
But,
Sometimes they argue!
Friendship is like flower,
Soft but strong!
Friendship is like sun,
Bright and beautiful!
Friendship is everything in life,
Life without friendship is like life without air…
Life without friendship is like eats without food
And
Life without friendship is like body without soul…
Friendship is wide!
Anybody can be our friend,
Our parents, our grandparents, our sister, our brother and even our school principal!
Friendship….
Is everything!
poem by Qistina Zaini
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Friendship
Friendship needs no studied phrases,
Polished face, or winning wiles;
Friendship deals no lavish praises,
Friendship dons no surface smiles.
Friendship follows nature's diction,
Shuns the blandishments of art,
Boldly severs truth from fiction,
Speaks the language of the heart.
Friendship favors no condition,
Scorns a narrow-minded creed,
Lovingly fulfills its mission,
Be it word or be it deed.
Friendship cheers the faint and weary,
Makes the timid spirit brave,
Warns the erring, lights the dreary,
Smooths the passage to the grave.
Friendship-pure, unselfish friendship,
All through life's allotted span,
Nurtures, strengthens, widens, lengthens,
Man's relationship with man.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Death
Come thou, thou last one, whom I recognize,
unbearable pain throughout this body's fabric:
as I in my spirit burned, see, I now burn in thee:
the wood that long resisted the advancing flames
which thou kept flaring, I now am nourishinig
and burn in thee.
My gentle and mild being through thy ruthless fury
has turned into a raging hell that is not from here.
Quite pure, quite free of future planning, I mounted
the tangled funeral pyre built for my suffering,
so sure of nothing more to buy for future needs,
while in my heart the stored reserves kept silent.
Is it still I, who there past all recognition burn?
Memories I do not seize and bring inside.
O life! O living! O to be outside!
And I in flames. And no one here who knows me.
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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The Necessity Of A New Heart
Now wouldst thou have a heart that tender is,
A heart that forward is to close with bliss;
A heart that will impressions freely take
Of the new covenant, and that will make
The best improvement of the word of grace,
And that to wickedness will not give place;
All this is in the promise, and it may
Obtained be of them that humbly pray.
Wouldst thou enjoy that spirit that is free,
And looseth those that in their spirits be
Oppressed with guilt, or filth, or unbelief;
That spirit that will, where it dwells, be chief;
Which breaketh Samson's cord as rotten thread,
And raiseth up the spirit that is dead;
That sets the will at liberty to choose
Those things that God hath promis'd to infuse
Into the humble heart? All this, I say,
The promise holdeth out to them that pray.
poem by John Bunyan
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On The Death Of Rev. William Benwell, M.A.
Thou camest with kind looks, when on the brink
Almost of death I strove, and with mild voice
Didst soothe me, bidding my poor heart rejoice,
Though smitten sore: Oh, I did little think
That thou, my friend, wouldst the first victim fall
To the stern King of Terrors! Thou didst fly,
By pity prompted, at the poor man's cry;
And soon thyself were stretched beneath the pall,
Livid infection's prey. The deep distress
Of her, who best thy inmost bosom knew,
To whom thy faith was vowed; thy soul was true,
What powers of faltering language shall express?
As friendship bids, I feebly breathe my own,
And sorrowing say, Pure spirit, thou art gone!
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Verses, On The Death Of The Same Lady
LIKE a poor ghost the night I seek;
ts hollow winds repeat my sighs;
The cold dews mingle on my cheek
With tears that wander from mine eyes.
The thorns that still my couch molest,
Have robb'd these heavy eyes of sleep;
But though deprived of tranquil rest,
I here at last am free to weep.
Twelve times the moon, that rises red
O'er yon tall wood of shadowy pine,
Has fill'd her orb, since low was laid
My Harriet! that sweet form of thine!
While each sad month, as slow it pass'd,
Brought some new sorrow to deplore;
Some grief more poignant than the last,
But thou canst calm those griefs no more.
No more thy friendship soothes to rest
This wearied spirit tempest-toss'd;
The cares that weigh upon my breast
Are doubly felt since thou art lost.
Bright visions of ideal grace
That the young poet's dreams inflame,
Were not more lovely than thy face;
Were not more perfect than thy frame.
Wit, that no sufferings could impair,
Was thine, and thine those mental powers
Of force to chase the fiends that tear
From Fancy's hands her budding flowers.
O'er what, my angel friend, thou wert,
Dejected Memory loves to mourn;
Regretting still that tender heart,
Now withering in a distant urn.
But ere that wood of shadowy pine
Twelve times shall yon full orb behold,
This sickening heart, that bleeds for thine,
My Harriet!—may like thine be cold!
poem by Charlotte Smith
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Song
Rarely, rarely comest thou,
Spirit of Delight!
Wherefore hast thou left me now
Many a day and night?
Many a weary night and day
'Tis since thou art fled away.
How shall ever one like me
Win thee back again?
With the joyous and the free
Thou wilt scoff at pain.
Spirit false! thou hast forgot
All but those who need thee not.
As a lizard with the shade
Of a trembling leaf,
Thou with sorrow art dismayed;
Even the sighs of grief
Reproach thee, that thou art not near,
And reproach thou wilt not her.
Let me set my mournful ditty
To a merry measure;--
Thou wilt never come for pity,
Thou wilt come for pleasure;
Pity then will cut away
Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.
I love all that thou lovest,
Spirit of Delight!
The fresh Earth in new leaves dressed,
And the starry night;
Autumn evening, and the morn
When the golden mists are born.
I love snow and all the forms
Of the radiant frost;
I love waves, and winds, and storms,
Everything almost
Which is Nature's, and may be
Untainted by man's misery.
I love tranquil solitude,
And such society
As is quiet, wise, and good;
Between thee and me
What difference? but thou dost possess
The things I seek, not love them less.
I love Love--though he has wings,
And like light can flee,
But above all other things,
Spirit, I love thee--
Thou art love and life! O come!
Make once more my heart thy home!
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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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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Beautiful Breast
Dainty, delicate and delicious doth meet
On thine breast tender, mild and sweet
Beauty in thy heart veiled by a beauteous breast
Seizes mine sight and mine heart arrest
Thou art a manifestation of tranquil beauty
Nurturing life, possessing love's duty
Enticingly sweet thy gravitate to me
With all love's passion glistening on the breast of thee
Thou kiss mine lips with thine tender breast
And I doth taste thy flesh while thine heart caress
Mine heart too, wert love in us doth meet
On thine tender, mild breast, lovely and sweet
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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