Lines Printed Under The Engraved Portrait Of Milton, In Tonson's Folio Edition Of The Paradise Lost, 1688
Three poets, in three distant ages born,
Greece, Italy, and England, did adorn.
The first, in loftiness of thought surpassed;
The next, in majesty; in both, the last.
The force of nature could no further go;
To make a third, she joined the former two.
poem by John Dryden
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
It's easy to understand why the most beautiful poems about England in the spring were written by poets living in Italy at the time.
quote by Philip Dunne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
(V – 2010) The Poet’s Nature
Reflecting Nature’s various hues
Poets write colourfully.
Echoing Nature’s innate songs
Poets write musically.
Learning from Nature’s righteous laws
Poets write more sensibly.
Drawing from Nature’s spotless love
Poets write more humanely.
Living with Nature’s poetic life
Poets write living poetry.
Shelley
England had triplets at a birth,
Coleridge, Southy and Wordsworth,
And these three were widely famed,
And the 'Lake Poets' they were named.
With joy they did pursue their themes,
'Mong England's lakes, and hills and streams;
From there with gladness they could view
The distant Scottish mountains blue.
poem by James McIntyre
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
There was interest from clubs in Italy and England, I believe. But I've never been attracted by the way they play in Italy. Staying in Spain was always my preference.
Real socialism is inside man. It wasn't born with Marx. It was in the communes of Italy in the Middle Ages. You can't say it is finished.
Worldwide News
Default in Greece,
In Iceland – peace,
Protests in England,
Evacuation plans in Scotland,
Brace’s bakery success in Wales,
In The Sun read the details.
Italy is under water,
In Twee Ribiere it’s getting hotter.
Riot is in the USA on Wall Street,
Moscow is in the sleet.
Soon or right on time for Christmas shopping?
Asked King of Prussia,
Collapse of currencies in Russia.
May be snow or may be rain in Ukraine.
In Odessa the sunny weather will remain.
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Austerity Of Poetry
That son of Italy who tried to blow,
Ere Dante came, the trump of sacred song,
In his light youth amid a festal throng
Sate with his bride to see a public show.
Fair was the bride, and on her front did glow
Youth like a star; and what to youth belong--
Gay raiment, sparkling gauds, elation strong.
A prop gave way! crash fell a platform! lo,
'Mid struggling sufferers, hurt to death, she lay!
Shuddering, they drew her garments off--and found
A robe of sackcloth next the smooth, white skin.
Such, poets, is your bride, the Muse! young, gay,
Radiant, adorn'd outside; a hidden ground
Of thought and of austerity within.
poem by Matthew Arnold
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Your Majesty
Your majesty, if you will
I realize that I am not worthy
Of licking the slime from your shoes
But I would that I could
Your majesty, don't you see
You're worth nothing to me
Though the world may worship you
You're simply a chauvinistic pig
Your majesty, we can tell
That you hold yourself in high opinion
You find no self faults
And you are self-centered
Your majesty, we realize
That you are blind to your own faults
And you are blind to the trials of others
You believe yourself to be the center of the Universe
Your majesty, anyone is better
Than you, in your self-possessed vanity
And the world realizes that I
Am more beautiful than you
Your majesty, none would ever
Get in line to be your queen
Because you are ruthless, selfish, vain
And none could be uglier than you
Your majesty, we all hope
That you realize the err of your ways soon
Because if you don't, we will revolt against you
And I shall be placed upon the throne over you
Your majesty, start to change
For the people around you change
And increasingly learn to hate you
So try harder to make others happy
Your majesty, instead
Of revelling in your own "beauty"
You should be striving to make the world more beautiful
Instead of making it an even uglier mess that we are left to clean up
Thank you, your majesty
poem by Gwenevere Cornwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lands Far Away
One eye is made for gathering juice from a peach,
This peach called England, and not Italy.
They roll these eyes, as if goers of lands far away
Result in boredom for themselves, like Italy and Spain.
They roll their arms and strut on their legs,
Both of them caught inside tough weight of fruit and flesh.
One other eye has contacted the Brain, as far as the lane,
And what can inspire us into dreams
As much as sleep?
The English weather has a rainy day, an answer to question,
Then given over a Sunday lunch.
They go to Italy or Spain if tired, yet resent the art of going.
Go all to the beaches of Spain, or all go away.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Speed Of Love
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
Love is born with lightning bolts
Electro-magnetic force
Burning skin and fireworks
A storm on a raging course
Like a force of nature,
Love can fade with the stars at dawn
Sometimes it takes all your strength
Just to keep holding on
At the speed of love
A radiance that travels
At the speed of love
My heart goes out to you
Love is born with solar flares
From two magnetic poles
It moves towards a higher plane
Where two halves make two wholes
Like a force of nature,
Love shines in many forms
One night we are bathed in light
One day carried away in the storms
At the speed of love
Nothing changes faster
Than the speed of love
My heart goes out to you
We dont have to talk
We dont even have to touch
I can feel your prescence
In the silence that we share
Got to keep moving
At the speed of love
Nothing changes faster
Than the speed of love
Got to keep on shining
At the speed of love
Nothing changes faster
Than the speed of love
My heart goes out to you
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I Was Not When You Were Born, You Were Old When I Was Born
I was not when you were born,
You were old when I was born.
You regret that I was late born,
I regret that you were early born.
I was not when you were born,
You were old when I was born.
I wished to have been born together,
We could enjoy our time together.
You were not when I was born,
I was old when you were born.
I was so far away from you,
You were so distant from me.
You were not when I was born,
I was old when you were born.
I’d become a flower-seeking butterfly,
And sleep on the fragrant grass every night.
poem by by unknown author
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
Our Wonder Of Her Only Does Seem To Grow
The artists and poets by the beauty of Nature inspired to sketch and to write
Their drawings for others to look at and their poems for others to read and recite
And in Nature there is always great beauty to see
In paddock and parkland and on every bush and tree
Once you get to know them you cannot get them wrong
Each species of bird of Nature by their chirp or their song
And though so little of Nature's ways we do seem to know
Our wonder of her only does seem to grow
And in her there is so much to love and admire
And of singing her praises one never could tire
In time brief enough the longest human life span
And Nature will outlive the last woman and man
Since all of her life forms are born to die
That's a fact of Nature and facts never lie.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Natural Is A Blooming Done
Many have surpassed,
Those levels of thought...
They had in the past,
With others shared...
And remembered.
Natural is a blooming done,
That happens.
Changes of each season.
Come to leave,
And not to stay.
No one should feel offended,
By the occurrence of this!
But there are those who are,
Believing they have been dismissed.
And maybe they are!
Not understanding...
There is a naturalness the comes,
To everything that blooms to grow...
With a leaving that is done under the Sun.
Many have surpassed,
Those levels of thought...
They had in the past,
With others shared...
And remembered.
But...
There is a naturalness the comes,
With a leaving that is done...
Under the Sun,
That no one keeps to remain...
With a sameness maintained.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Deceased Poets Of Nature
Such beautiful poems to Nature they did write
The poetry we love for to read and recite
May they rest in peace now where-ever they lay
The deceased poets of Nature their poems live today
They glorified Nature and her praises they sung
And though they may be long dead their poems remain young
the poets of the land and the poets of the sea
In their beautiful poetry their greatness we do see
Their poems and their songs I loved as a boy
And their poems and their songs I will always enjoy
The beauty of Nature they did celebrate
And beauty in their words they loved to create.
Great insights of Nature from them we did gain
The beauty of their words with us does remain
We loved them for their poems in decades long gone
The deceased poets of Nature their poems living on.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Born In Africa
I am born in Africa with the odd triangle,
But that is not the end of my story with you;
And i have the hope of meeting up with stars one day.
Across the ages of history are the ages of mankind,
And across the stages of my age are my dreams;
For i have to take the steps of meeting you one day.
He brews with his people and,
Every son was thrown into the river!
But the daughters were saved for love.
I have made up my mind towards you and,
My age will lead me on to the mountain of love;
For i was born in Africa with the odd triangle but,
The dreams of my mind will lead me on.
Kish, fish, dish;
1611 to the King James Version of the Bible;
But the Roman Pope ssent Augustine to convert England in 596.
I am born in Africa with hope,
And of the struggles that have made me very strong!
But like a celibate mate in a compact car,
I will rise up high above all things to meet the stars.
Of much medieval canon laws and,
What i can do in this life;
But in the era of 325,
The Council of Nicaea condemned Arianism.
How can a war be 'holy' when, people are being killed?
Maybe it is like a political inoculation to the immune system;
But, i will make it to the stars one day.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Oh These Poets And Their Sounds
OH THESE POETS AND THEIR SOUNDS
Oh these poets and their sounds
Their distant rhythms
Which take your soul away-
Oh these poets and their sounds
And the longing to be
One of them-
Oh this poet
And all his cry of loneliness-
Oh these poets and their sounds,
And he in his own small voice
Crying out lonely words
Before his own lonely page.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
There are two classes of poets - the poets by education and practice, these we respect; and poets by nature, these we love.
quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
XV: To Lord Denman,
RESIGNING THE OFFICE OF LORD CHIEF JUSTICE OF ENGLAND
There is a rapture in the great All Hail
With which a nation honours thy repose,
That proves thy image deathless-that the close
Of man's remotest age, whose boyhood glows
While pondering o'er thy lineaments, shall fail
To delegate to cold historic tale
What Denman was; for dignity that flows
Not in the moulds of compliment extern,
But from the noble spirit's purest urn,
Springs vital; justice shrined from wintry flaw
By beautiful regards, and thoughts that burn
With generous ire, within the soul shall draw
No form but thine, when distant times would learn
The embodied majesty of England's Law.
poem by Thomas Noon Talfourd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Another for Hanque
A poem is joined to everything,
hangs by a thought;
a poet is joined to everything,
hangs by a word;
wisdom’s joined to everything;
hang lightly, golden heart.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Good Poets and Bad Poets
Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.
Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.
Some poets think they are good poets only in their own mind
Some poets think they are bad poets in somebody's else mind.
Some poets think they are good poets in somebody else mind.
Some poets think others think they are good poets but they don't in their hearts.
Some poets think they are good poets in their hearts but not in anyone else's mind.
All are insecure, except those who get security from the opinions of others and that, alas, doesn't last and isn't real.
Some poets have left the entire scene and live only in their mind.
Some poets take criticism and don't mind.
Some poets avoid criticism and do mind.
Some poets write poetry to get love.
Some poets love to write poetry.
Some poets are ahead of their time, in their mind
Some poets spend a lifetime feeling like failures in their mind
Some poets live only after they die.
Some poets have much to say but can't articulate
Some poets retreat, believing others don't understand
So which one of these am I?
I guess I am all of these and none of these
and no matter what my description
I intend to keep doing what I do:
Write. Right
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!