Minstrel's Book - The Four Favours
THAT Arabs through the realms of space
May wander on, light-hearted,
Great Allah hath, to all their race,
Four favours meet imparted.
The turban first--that ornament
All regal crowns excelling;
A light and ever-shifting tent,
Wherein to make our dwelling;
A sword, which, more than rocks and walls
Doth shield us, brightly glistening;
A song that profits and enthrall,
For which the maids are list'ning!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Lilies Without, Lilies Within
Can I think the Guide of Heaven
Hath so beautifully given
Outward features, 'cause He meant
To have made less excellent
Your divine part? Or suppose
Beauty, goodness doth oppose;
Like those fools, who do despair
To find any, good and fair?
Rather there I seek a mind
Most excelling, where I find
God hath to the body lent
Most-beseeming ornament,
And I do believe it true,
That, as we the body view
Nearer to perfection grow;
So, the soul herself doth show:
Other more and more excelling
In her powers; as in her dwelling.
poem by George Wither
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The Bird's Release
Go forth, for she is gone!
With the golden light of her wavy hair,
She is gone to the fields of the viewless air;
She hath left her dwelling lone!
Her voice hath pass'd away!
It hath pass'd away like a summer breeze,
When it leaves the hills for the far blue seas,
Where we may not trace its way.
Go forth, and like her be free!
With thy radiant wing, and thy glancing eye,
Thou hast all the range of the sunny sky,
And what is our grief to thee?
Is it aught ev'n to her we mourn?
Doth she look on the tears by her kindred shed?
Doth she rest with the flowers o'er her gentle head,
Or float on the light wind borne?
We know not-but she is gone!
Her step from the dance, her voice from the song,
And the smile of her eye from the festal throng;-
-She hath left her dwelling lone!
When the waves at sunset shine,
We may hear thy voice, amidst thousands more,
In the scented woods of our glowing shore,
But we shall not know 'tis thine!
Ev'n so with the lov'd one flown!
Her smile in the starlight may wander by,
Her breath may be near in the wind's low sigh,
Around us-but all unknown.
Go forth, we have loos'd thy chain!
We may deck thy cage with the richest flowers,
Which the bright day rears in our eastern bowers,
But thou wilt not be lur'd again.
Ev'n thus may the summer pour
All fragrant things on the land's green breast,
And the glorious earth like a bride be dress'd,
But it wins her back no more!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Realmseescope and realmfilterscope
some realms
can be seen
but not touched
it can be at the
other side of say light
some realms
need the other realms
to realise themselves
like light that needs us
to see itself
and us who need light
to see this realm
some realms are
sharing realms
within each other
like light that has seven
realms spread in them
and we cannot see them
until our brain advance
into them with say
a realmseescope
and till then perhaps
we need to advance with
a realm filterscope
to select from the millions of realms
what we wish to see -
the being that resembles us most
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Sonnet XXXIIII
Lyke as a ship that through the Ocean wyde,
by conduct of some star doth make her way.
whenas a storme hath dimd her trusty guyde.
out of her course doth wander far astray:
So I whose star, that wont with her bright ray,
me to direct, with cloudes is ouercast,
doe wander now in darknesse and dismay,
through hidden perils round about me plast.
Yet hope I well, that when this storme is past
My Helice the lodestar of my lyfe
will shine again, and looke on me at last,
with louely light to cleare my cloudy grief,
Till then I wander carefull comfortlesse,
in secret sorow and sad pensiuenesse.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Dawn
The immortal spirit hath no bars
To circumscribe its dwelling place;
My soul hath pastured with the stars
Upon the meadow-lands of space.
My mind and ear at times have caught,
From realms beyond our mortal reach,
The utterance of Eternal Thought
Of which all nature is the speech.
And high above the seas and lands,
On peaks just tipped with morning light,
My dauntless spirit mutely stands
With eagle wings outspread for flight.
poem by Frederick George Scott
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Allah. (From The German Of Mahlmann)
Allah gives light in darkness,
Allah gives rest in pain,
Cheeks that are white with weeping
Allah paints red again.
The flowers and the blossoms wither,
Years vanish with flying fleet;
But my heart will live on forever,
That here in sadness beat.
Gladly to Allah's dwelling
Yonder would I take flight;
There will the darkness vanish,
There will my eyes have sight.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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And Thus In Nineveh
Aye! I am a poet and upon my tomb
Shall maidens scatter rose leaves
And men myrtles, ere the night
Slays day with her dark sword.
'Lo ! this thing is not mine
Nor thine to hinder,
For the custom is full old,
And here in Nineveh have I beheld
Many a singer pass and take his place
In those dim halls where no man troubleth
His sleep or song.
And many a one hath sung his songs
More craftily, more subtle-souled than I;
And many a one now doth surpass
My wave-worn beauty with his wind of flowers,
Yet am I poet, and upon my tomb
Shall all men scatter rose leaves
Ere the night slay light
With her blue sword.
‘It is not, Raana, that my song rings highest
Or more sweet in tone than any, but that I
Am here a Poet, that doth drink of life
As lesser men drink wine.’
poem by Ezra Pound
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Lines on London
They once in wilderness did ride
On beast with horn and shaggy hide-
A savage goat or unicorn,
But now parade in uniform ;
As gay as ancient Knight or Lord,
With their grand plumes, and belt and swords.
Their graceful movements at their drill
Doth all with admiration fill,
And the chief glory it was won
By the encampment of London ;
For they at every tournament
For drill are the chief ornament.
So skillfully they sword do wield,
Victorious on every field ;
For victory's graven on their shield
Doth make their rivals for to yield ;
Drill companies they out maneuver
From Newfoundland to Vancouver.
poem by James McIntyre
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Light And Lightness Of Our Beings
let the soft light land on my face
let it stay there for a while
as i close my eyes
and lay myself in the lightness
of my being
my hands are soft as
the hair of a rabbit
my lips open
to let my tongue wet
its red sides
i am as light as a feather
lifted up by air
i become light myself
rising from the walls
and the ceiling
i am freedom from
sanity i am the conqueror
of the logical order
there are no numbers
just an open space
there are no days now
and neither do nights exist
i am eternal
and i am inside this
space beyond
any space
i am a ray of light
i am a shooting star
i am a black hole
i am lost and no one
shall ever find me
except you, the one i love.
you make me feel so light.
i am carried away.
hold me and kiss me.
i am all yours.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Get Your Rocks Off
by Bob Dylan
You know, there's two ol' maids layin' in the bed,
One picked herself up an' the other one, she said:
"Get your rocks off!
Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off-a me! (Get 'em off!)"
Well, you know, there late one night up on Blueberry Hill,
One man turned to the other man and said, with a blood-curdlin' chill, he said:
"Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off-a me! (Get 'em off!)"
Well, you know, we was layin' down around Mink Muscle Creek,
One man said to the other man, he began to speak, he said:
"Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off-a me! (Get 'em off!)"
Well, you know, we was cruisin' down the highway in a Greyhound bus.
All kinds-a children in the side road, they was hollerin' at us, sayin':
"Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)
Get your rocks off-a me!
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Though Humble the Banquet
Though humble the banquet to which I invite thee,
Thou'lt find there the best a poor bard can command;
Eyes, beaming with welcome, shall throng round, to light thee,
And Love serve the feast with his own willing hand.
And though Fortune may seem to have turn'd from the dwelling
Of him thou regardest her favouring ray,
Thou wilt find there a gift, all her treasures excelling,
Which, proudly he feels, hath ennobled his way.
'Tis that freedom of mind, which no vulgar dominion
Can turn from the path a pure conscience approves,
Which, with hope in the heart, and no chain on the pinion,
Holds upwards its course to the light which it loves.
'Tis this makes the pride of his humble retreat,
And with this, though of all other treasures bereaved,
The breeze of his garden to him is more sweet
Than the costliest incense that Pomp e'er received.
Then, come, if a board so untempting hath power
To win thee from grandeur, its best shall be thine;
And there's one, long the light of the bard's happy bower,
Who, smiling will blend her bright welcome with mine.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Season's of the Soul
Quiet is the autumn sun
Purified in God's own light
This day star of divinity
As it fades into the peaceful night
Valerian dreams they hang in the sky
Like timber wolves tracks in the snow
Winter looms near after autumns last song
And the geese fly south, as they know
Now is the time when the bud doth decline
And the leaves they do carpet the ground
No sooner than this with the suns perfect kiss
Soon spring will be right back around.
As this tide of life is turning
God's sweet grace is soon imparted
Natures message to awaken
But only for the open hearted
Thus are the seasons of our soul
From the moment of our birth
Life a blessed thing of beauty
This joyful passage here on earth
poem by Lynne FincherSpringarden
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Break of Day
'Tis true, 'tis day ; what though it be?
O, wilt thou therefore rise from me?
Why should we rise because 'tis light?
Did we lie down because 'twas night?
Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither,
Should in despite of light keep us together.
Light hath no tongue, but is all eye;
If it could speak as well as spy,
This were the worst that it could say,
That being well I fain would stay,
And that I loved my heart and honour so
That I would not from him, that had them, go.
Must business thee from hence remove?
O ! that's the worst disease of love,
The poor, the foul, the false, love can
Admit, but not the busied man.
He which hath business, and makes love, doth do
Such wrong, as when a married man doth woo.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Break of Day (another of the same)
'Tis true, 'tis day; what though it be?
O wilt thou therefore rise from me?
Why should we rise, because 'tis light?
Did we lie down, because 'twas night?
Love which in spite of darkness brought us hither
Should in despite of light keep us together.
Light hath no tongue, but is all eye;
If it could speak as well as spy,
This were the worst that it could say -
That being well, I fain would stay,
And that I loved my heart and honour so,
That I would not from her, that had them, go.
Must business thee from hence remove?
Oh, that's the worst disease of love!
The poor, the foul, the false, love can
Admit, but not the busied man.
He which hath business, and makes love, doth do
Such wrong as when a married man doth woo.
poem by John Donne
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Ballatetta
The light became her grace and dwelt among
Blind eyes and shadows that are formed as men;
Lo, how the light doth melt us into song:
The broken sunlight for a healm she beareth
Who hath my heart in jurisdiction.
In wild-wood never fawn nor fallow fareth
So silent light; no gossamer is spun
So delicate as she is, when the sun
Drives the clear emeralds from the bended grasses
Lest they should parch too swiftly, where she passes.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Prayer At Sunrise
O mighty, powerful, dark-dispelling sun,
Now thou art risen, and thy day begun.
How shrink the shrouding mists before thy face,
As up thou spring'st to thy diurnal race!
How darkness chases darkness to the west,
As shades of light on light rise radiant from thy crest!
For thee, great source of strength, emblem of might,
In hours of darkest gloom there is no night.
Thou shinest on though clouds hide thee from sight,
And through each break thou sendest down thy light.
O greater Maker of this Thy great sun,
Give me the strength this one day's race to run,
Fill me with light, fill me with sun-like strength,
Fill me with joy to rob the day its length.
Light from within, light that will outward shine,
Strength to make strong some weaker heart than mine,
Joy to make glad each soul that feels its touch;
Great Father of the sun, I ask this much.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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The Remembrance
When things are down
And you are out of your mind
Remember just remember
Allah is The Kind.
When your life is in darkness
And nothing is right
Remember just remember
Through the darkness, Allah is The Light.
When nothing makes sense
And you're heading for demise
Remember just remember
It doesn’t make sense, but Allah is The Wise.
When times are troubled
And no one seems to care
Remember just remember
Allah won’t hurt you, He is The Fair.
When your heart is breaking
And your pain makes you fall
Remember just remember
Allah Sees it all.
When you are weak
And the road seems long
Remember just remember
Seek strength from The Strong.
When life is a burden
And everything is unstable
Remember just remember
Allah is The Able.
When the way is cloudy
And there is no one by your side
Remember just remember
Allah is The Only Guide.
When no one wants to listen
Nor is willing to lend an ear
Remember just remember
Allah is always ready to hear.
When you are poor and penniless
And you are stuck in a niche
Remember just remember
Allah is The Rich.
When you are down in your misery
And there is nowhere to run
Remember just remember
You can always run to The One.
And when your wounds are hurting
And your heart is in fear
Remember just remember
Allah is really here.
poem by Nazmul Haque
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The Angel And The Child. (From Jean Reboul, The Baker Of Nismes)
An angel with a radiant face,
Above a cradle bent to look,
Seemed his own image there to trace,
As in the waters of a brook.
'Dear child! who me resemblest so,'
It whispered, 'come, O come with me!
Happy together let us go,
The earth unworthy is of thee!
'Here none to perfect bliss attain;
The soul in pleasure suffering lies;
Joy hath an undertone of pain,
And even the happiest hours their sighs.
'Fear doth at every portal knock;
Never a day serene and pure
From the o'ershadowing tempest's shock
Hath made the morrow's dawn secure.
'What then, shall sorrows and shall fears
Come to disturb so pure a brow?
And with the bitterness of tears
These eyes of azure troubled grow?
'Ah no! into the fields of space,
Away shalt thou escape with me;
And Providence will grant thee grace
Of all the days that were to be.
'Let no one in thy dwelling cower,
In sombre vestments draped and veiled;
But let them welcome thy last hour,
As thy first moments once they hailed.
'Without a cloud be there each brow;
There let the grave no shadow cast;
When one is pure as thou art now,
The fairest day is still the last.'
And waving wide his wings of white,
The angel, at these words, had sped
Towards the eternal realms of light!--
Poor mother! see, thy son is dead!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Electric Light
When the great Bulwer's pen did trace
The history of the coming race
His hero to us he hath unfurled
The glories of his new found world.
This bold traveller be did venture
Far below our world's centre ;
He entered through an ancient mine
And to us doth new world define.
Once all was discord and fierce jars,
Continuous engaged in wars
Till they discovered great vrill power,
Then wars did cease from that same hour.
Mighty bolts from it were hurled ;
Would soon have laid waste the world ;
So for world's preservation
At once they stopped desolation.
All wars by them are now despised
Unfit for nation civilized ;
Their peaceful glories they do sing
And fly on artificial wing.
Great blazing artificial light
It ever burns both day and night,
For they have neither sun nor moon,
But radient, always 'tis high noon.
When we beheld the glorious sight,
High in the air did shine so bright ;
It seemed that it could banish night,
Great refulgent electric light.
But after all, 'tis children's play,
Compared with the great orb of day,
Or when the moon it doth shine bright,
And stars do beautify the night.
poem by James McIntyre
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The Fugitive. (Tartar Song, From The Prose Version Of Chodzko)
I.
'He is gone to the desert land
I can see the shining mane
Of his horse on the distant plain,
As he rides with his Kossak band!
'Come back, rebellious one!
Let thy proud heart relent;
Come back to my tall, white tent,
Come back, my only son!
'Thy hand in freedom shall
Cast thy hawks, when morning breaks,
On the swans of the Seven Lakes,
On the lakes of Karajal.
'I will give thee leave to stray
And pasture thy hunting steeds
In the long grass and the reeds
Of the meadows of Karaday.
'I will give thee my coat of mail,
Of softest leather made,
With choicest steel inlaid;
Will not all this prevail?'
II.
'This hand no longer shall
Cast my hawks, when morning breaks,
On the swans of the Seven Lakes,
On the lakes of Karajal.
'I will no longer stray
And pasture my hunting steeds
In the long grass and the reeds
Of the meadows of Karaday.
'Though thou give me thy coat of mall,
Of softest leather made,
With choicest steel inlaid,
All this cannot prevail.
'What right hast thou, O Khan,
To me, who am mine own,
Who am slave to God alone,
And not to any man?
'God will appoint the day
When I again shall be
By the blue, shallow sea,
Where the steel-bright sturgeons play.
'God, who doth care for me,
In the barren wilderness,
On unknown hills, no less
Will my companion be.
'When I wander lonely and lost
In the wind; when I watch at night
Like a hungry wolf, and am white
And covered with hoar-frost;
'Yea, wheresoever I be,
In the yellow desert sands,
In mountains or unknown lands,
Allah will care for me!'
III.
Then Sobra, the old, old man,--
Three hundred and sixty years
Had he lived in this land of tears,
Bowed down and said, 'O Khan!
'If you bid me, I will speak.
There's no sap in dry grass,
No marrow in dry bones! Alas,
The mind of old men is weak!
'I am old, I am very old:
I have seen the primeval man,
I have seen the great Gengis Khan,
Arrayed in his robes of gold.
'What I say to you is the truth;
And I say to you, O Khan,
Pursue not the star-white man,
Pursue not the beautiful youth.
'Him the Almighty made,
And brought him forth of the light,
At the verge and end of the night,
When men on the mountain prayed.
'He was born at the break of day,
When abroad the angels walk;
He hath listened to their talk,
And he knoweth what they say.
'Gifted with Allah's grace,
Like the moon of Ramazan
When it shines in the skies, O Khan,
Is the light of his beautiful face.
'When first on earth he trod,
The first words that he said
Were these, as he stood and prayed,
There is no God but God!
'And he shall be king of men,
For Allah hath heard his prayer,
And the Archangel in the air,
Gabriel, hath said, Amen!'
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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