Gather Love’s Petals - Parody Robert HERRICK – To the Virgins, to make much of Time and other parodies
Gather Love’s petals while you may,
old Time locks box, mocks sighing,
blush bloom of youth so lush today
soon sees rush hushed, croon dying.
Life’s almost done before begun,
there’s little sense in letting
Time fly, for fast the setting sun
lets out last room, forgetting.
You once would pay prompt to the day
the rent when you were letting,
and all will say, ‘ah, lack-a-day! ’ –
tomb’s prospect’s still upsetting.
So shed false mask, take book and flask,
a partner most becoming,
bread ‘neath the bough, nought else now ask,
as Death sucks breath, brain numbing.
True love forecast must never bask
on laurels – distant drumming
takes waste to task, haste to the task,
seek joy, don’t toy, go slumming!
Red rose in bloom bedecks the tomb
of love lost, cost uncounted,
grey shadows loom so don't assume
winged options once dismounted.
Ride not far and wide, pride set aside,
trust basic instincts inner,
much more beside wealth counts, two tied
by trust's win/win begin a
relationship unknown to whip,
to rip-tide which submerges
what lip to lip can offer hip
to hip's united urges.
That age is best when Youth has done
with superficial fretting,
right choice attested, others shun,
sage bats beat restless netting...
Decisions take, no past mistake
should hinder joy awaking,
so joy's hopes slake in passion's lake
let walls fall, towers quaking.
Gather ye rosebuds all who will,
and yet, though Time’s a-flying,
in one fair head, eternal still,
Life thrives, Death’s grin denying.
The glorious lamp of Heaven, the Sun,
as higher he is getting,
if e’er his praises were begun -
laws seasonal forgetting -
go[l]d head embarrassed would be hung -
some modesty’s essential -
vain beauty pains, gains cobwebs st[r]ung
like pearls inconsequential.
Life praises who free love and woo
where two true fit, pale phantom
none envy through tomorrow's dew -
Life’s summons flows to summum!
Garner Love’s petals while you play,
old Time locks box, mocks sighing,
youth's lush bloom blush scents rush today
wilts, sense sent spilt-milk crying.
19 August 2009
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Related quotes
Gather Ye Rosebuds
Gather ye rosebuds all who will,
and yet, though Time’s a-flying,
in one fair head, eternal still,
Life thrives, Death’s grin denying.
The glorious lamp of Heaven, the Sun,
as higher he is getting,
if e’er his praises were begun -
laws seasonal forgetting -
Go[l]d head embarrassed would be hung
as modesty’s essential,
in beauty all eclipsed are, st[r]ung
like pearls inconsequential.
God praises her, both first and last,
each other flits, - pale phantom, -
she’s envied now by Future, Past,
Life’s summons flows to summum...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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To Virgins, to Make Much of Time
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And, while ye may, go marry;
For, having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Love and Trust
Do you believe that in order for you to love your partner, you have to trust them, you have to confide in them, everything that one does, embellish with them all your inner thoughts?
Love is something unexplainable, something uncontrollable, a feeling you cannot define, every ones concept of love is different, everyone believes in a true love, but what is love? Do you believe it needs trust to build a commitment?
Trust, in order for your partner to be there for you, you want to develop a sense of comfortablism with them, that you can grasp and confide in them with anything you have to say or offer, any decisions you wanted to make you would 'TRUST' them with that so you can make the right choice.
'You can do wrong to me but at the end of the day, I still love you, unconditionally'
Think about this, can you love someone and build a strong commitment with them if you don't trust them? Can you tell them everything, share everything, why does trust need to be a factor in your decision on whether you should love him or her for the rest of your life, if I don't trust you that doesn't mean I don't love you, and vice versa. How is it that the two things always get mixed up and twisted and tangled, mangled. who proposed that these two should determine what happens in a relationship. How can anyone say this has a factor or plays a role in how you love someone. You should love them whether you trust them or not, trust is nothing when you have great feelings with someone else. There should be no filters or walls to determine, LOVE, I don't have to trust you to love you. Love is not only the foundation of relationships, it is the foundation for everything.
poem by Johnny Checo
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When!
WHEN I am young again I'll hoard my bliss,
Nor deem that inexhaustible it is,
Remembering old age comes after this,
Joy grows to pain;
Nor waste one moment of youth's rose-sweet hours,
Nor trample one of all its countless flowers,
But drink the summer sun and soft spring showers,
When I am young again.
I will be wise with wisdom dearly won
By those who through life's wood have nearly run;
Learn what to do, and what to leave undone,
Risk or refrain.
I will not seek into my mouth to take
The bitter apple of the acrid lake,
But at clear fountains all my thirsts will slake,
When I am young again.
I will not brush the bloom to reach the core,
Remembering how it chanced with me before,
And bloom once lost returns not any more,
Hard cores remain:
I will fence round with prudence and secure
A lasting bloom whose freshness shall endure;
Oh, I will guard my peach of youth, be sure,
When I am young again.
When I am young again, I'll spend no breath
On bitter words the heart remembereth
When bitterness is swallowed up by Death
Holding sole reign;
I'll love so well that if they pass to sleep
Before me, I shall have no watch to keep
Over their tears-only my tears to weep
When I am young again.
I will not lightly joy nor idly grieve,
Nor for a heaven itself one soul deceive,
Nor will I be deceived, vainly believe,
Nor love in vain.
Come back, lost youth! Ah, Fate, that one gift give!
Then I will show that I have learned to live;
Youth shall be wise--and two and two make five--
When I am young again!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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At Long Last
Late, late the prize is drawn, the goal attained,
The Heart's Desire fulfilled, Love's guerdon gained.
Wealth's use is past, Fame's crown of laurel mocks
The downward-drooping head and grizzled locks.
The end is reached - the end of toil and strife -
The end of life.
Love flowers and fades like grass, and flowers again;
The spendthrift lovers waste themselves in vain;
Their fiery passions burn out one by one,
And then, alas! when their best days are done,
Spirit and body find their perfect mate -
So late! So late!
Long-sought, long seeking, through the lonely years,
The wanderers meet to weep their useless tears
For time and chance irrevocably flown,
Dear hopes outlived and happy faiths outgrown,
Children unborn, the myriad joys unseen
That might have been.
Not for the spring and morning-time of youth
The perfect flower of slow-unfolding truth,
The perfect love, that dreams of youth foretell,
But youth knows not and youth could never tell;
That light celestial, as of sunset fires
When day expires.
Late comes the gift that crowns the hungry quest,
Like ripe wheat-harvest in a land at rest,
And comes alone, a consecrated cup,
To those proved worthy to sit down and sup.
To them - aye, aye, despite their treasure lost,
'T'is worth the cost.
'T'is worth the cost to reach the heights at last,
Ere eyes are dim and daylight overpast.
To see one aim achieved, one dream fulfilled,
Ere striving brain and trusting heart are stilled.
To live one glorious hour - its price of pain
Is never paid in vain.
poem by Ada Cambridge
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Lovers In Love With Life
The petals that fall from a rose in bloom
do so with grace and ease.
One by one they leave the flower
and flutter in the breeze.
The lovers that fall in love with life
do so with eyes that see
that what they have before them
is a set of keys.
These keys can open up life's doors
that lead to roads unknown.
Together they travel the path of life
and never feel they're alone.
They face a future not carved in stone
but will do it fearlessly
for they know that their love will protect them
wherever they may be.
And like the petals that left the rose
because its life was done,
So too the lovers in love with life
will leave this life as one.
For lovers that shed the tears that drop
just like the petals that fall
understand that what they had in life
was that they had it all.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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To The Virgins, To Make Much Of Time
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may:
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles to-day,
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.
That age is best, which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times, still succeed the former.
--Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.
poem by Robert Herrick
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400 ~ Bloom
Just begins to bud,
a rose,
holding hopes and fears
behind
black-red, velvet-soft petals.
Startled by a bright, new world,
it opens,
revealing petals of humility.
Blushing, growing,
opening as it becomes
accustomed
to beauty in light.
Proud color spreads wide across,
full bloom,
not as dark as at first,
glowing
from light that has filled it.
This rose can never die.
As love,
It can lose color, wilt, fade,
but in the mind,
the rose
will forever be in bright, full bloom.
This rose stands a symbol,
to time.
What has occurred to arrive at
now?
All the bloomings have led to one bright bloom,
this rose.
As someone has made me bloom,
she is
beauty and
light. Changing
my colors, releasing
my fears,
I owe her much, love
will never die, like
the glowing bloom of this,
a rose.
poem by Stan Pelfrey
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History Of Us
I went all the way to paris to forget your face
Captured in stained glass, young lives long since passed
Statues of lovers every place
I went all across the continent to relieve this restless love
I walked through the ruins, icons of glory
Smashed by the bombs from above
So we must love while these moments are still called today
Take part in the pain of this passion play
Stretching our youth as we must, until we are ashes to dust
Until time makes history of us
Jeu de paumes full of faces knowing peace, knowing strife
Leisure and toil, still its canvas and oil
Theres just no medium for life
In the midst of the rubble I felt a sense of rebirth
In a dusty cathedral the living God called
And I prayed for my life here on earth
So we must love while these moments are still called today
Take part in the pain of this passion play
Stretching our youth as we must, until we are ashes to dust
Until time makes history of us
There are mountains in switzerland, brilliant cold as they stand
From my hotel room, watching the half-moon
Bleeding its light like a lamb
And the town is illumined, its tiny figures are fast asleep
And it dawns on me the time is upon me
To return to the flock I must keep
So we must love while these moments are still called today
Take part in the pain of this passion play
Stretching our youth as we must, until we are ashes to dust
Until time makes history of us
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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His Youth
Dying? I am not dying. Are you mad?
You think I need to ask for heavenly grace?
\I\ think \you\ are a fiend, who would be glad
To see me struggle in death's cold embrace.
'But, man you lie! for I am strong-in truth
Stronger than I have been in years; and soon
I shall feel young again as in my youth,
My glorious youth-life's one great priceless boon.
'O youth, youth, youth! O God, that golden time,
When proud and glad I laughed the hours away.
Why, there's no sacrifice (perhaps no crime)
I'd pause at, could it make me young to-day.
'But I'm not \old\! I grew-just ill, somehow;
Grew stiff of limb, and weak, and dim of sight.
It was but sickness. I am better now,
Oh, vastly better, ever since last night.
'And I could weep warm floods of happy tears
To think my strength is coming back at last,
For I have dreamed of such an hour for years,
As I lay thinking of my glorious past.
'You shake your head? Why, man, if you were sane
I'd strike you to my feet, I would, in truth.
How dare you tell me that my hopes are vain?
How dare you say I have outlived my youth?
''In heaven I may regain it?' Oh, be still!
I want no heaven but what my glad youth gave.
Its long, bright hours, its rapture and its thrill-
O youth, youth, youth! it is my \youth\ I crave.
'There is no heaven! There's nothing but a deep
And yawning grave from which I shrink in fear.
I am not sure of even rest or sleep;
Perhaps we lie and \think\, as I have here.
'Think, think, think, think, as we lie there and rot,
And hear the young above us laugh in glee.
How dare you say I'm dying! \I am not\.
I would curse God if such a thing could be.
'Why, see me stand! why, hear this strong, full breath-
Dare you repeat that silly, base untruth?'
A cry-a fall-the silence known as death
Hushed his wild words. Well, has he found his youth?
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Time And Love
Time flies. The swift hours hurry by
And speed us on to untried ways;
New seasons ripen, perish, die,
And yet love stays.
The old, old love – like sweet at first,
At last like bitter wine –
I know not if it blest or curst,
Thy life and mine.
Time flies. In vain our prayers, our tears,
We cannot tempt him to delays;
Down to the past he bears the years,
And yet love stays.
Through changing task and varying dream
We hear the same refrain,
As one can hear a plaintive theme
Run through each strain.
Time flies. He steals out pulsing youth,
He robs us of our care-free days,
He takes away our trust and truth,
And yet love stays.
O Time! take love! When love is vain,
When all its best joys die –
When only its regrets remain –
Let love, too, fly.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Age considers, youth ventures
Age considers, youth ventures
Age visualizes, youth dreams
Age makes theories, youth experiments
Age loves, youth longs
Age sees people, youth sees places
Age knows belongings, youth discovers them
Age pains to gain, youth gains to others' pain
Age has heart, youth has mind
Age is thoughtful, youth is tactful
Age ponders, youth wonders
Age recounts, youth counts
Age is experienced, youth is in experience
Age is cautious, youth dashes
Age floats, youth swims
Age lives, youth still making a living
Age is in touch with termination, youth with determination
Age is confident, youth is competent
Age adds years to living, youth adds life to living
Age is lost in past, youth is drowned in future
Age is grown, youth is crown
Ageless is youth, youthless is age
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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As Long As Your Eyes Are Blue
'Will you love me, sweet, when my hair is grey
And my cheeks shall have lost their hue?
When the charms of youth shall have passed away
Will your love as of old prove true?
'For the looks may change, and the heart may range
And the love be no longer fond;
Will you love with truth in the years of youth
And away to the years beyond?'
Oh, I love you, sweet, for your locks of brown
And the blush on your cheek that lies,
But I love you most for the kindly heart
That I see in your sweet blue eyes.
For the eyes are the signs of the soul within,
Of the heart that is leal and true,
And, my own sweetheart, I shall love you still,
Just as long as your eyes are blue.
For the locks may bleach, and the cheeks of peach
May be reft of their golden hue;
But, my own sweetheart, I shall love you still,
Just as long as your eyes are blue.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Somewhere in my heart
I never thought that I would fall
I cant stop dreaming of you
Don’t know how to stop thinking of you
I miss you in each day of my life
And wanting you to be here right by my side
I never asked for this feeling
A love that grows deep inside of me
Like a sun that bloom in my life
Like a flowers that bloom in spring
As wide like an ocean and stream
Could it be so beautiful
Could it be so wonderful
That somewhere in my heart
There’s a magic of love
Could it be true
Or Could I’ll be wrong
That somewhere in my heart
There was me and you
Somewhere here in my heart
I dreaming of you
As thoughts of you made me blush
In the passing clouds I felt a rush
Suddenly I felt I’m in love
How I hate what you have done
For this feeling I felt in my heart
Constantly you’re in my mind
And it’s such ashamed
Cause my heart is on the ground….
poem by Cheryl Aldea
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Downfall - 1053 - Current Version of Fallen is Star
Fallen is star which once brightly,
there clear in fair firmament shone,
no trace now remains as Time lightly
grieves sleeves, life's sheeved leaves ever gone.
Love's star which once seemed infinitely
to bloom beyond tomb meets doom, dumb,
as sentiments sent expeditely
to Lethe mock joyride's vain sum.
Dreams' themes lie unechoed, contritely
one wonders what might have become
if fate had dealt less reconditely
ere great expectations succumb.
Whosoever would compromise slightly
with principles life's staff has spun
must offer impression unsightly
some pity, some spurn, and most shun.
Ideals threading vision so knightly
no gleam still retain - what begun
in trust unembellished rusts, rightly
forgotten, ignored or undone.
No point in requesting politely
what became of game, quest, aim, fête's fun;
in tatters Fate scatters forthrightly
all trace of race no-one has won.
Though today some may say hale and sprightly
‘tomorrow holds promise' - yet none
would relinquish life's tether held tightly,
soon Time spills, boon numbed, still, distance run.
(1 February 2010)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Mockery
I met my love a-weeping,
Weeping in the night-tide pale;
Her head among the lily bloom,
Weeping by an empty tomb—
An unshut tomb.
I gently stroked her golden hair
That shone so
With the moon-glow
In the sad-sweet air.
Like playful breezes from the south
Came soft smile-dimples to her mouth;
And when again she seemed to weep
I kissed her wild-wide eyes to sleep;
While there beyond the lily bloom
I saw the watching, waiting tomb.
I left my love a-sleeping,
Sleeping in the cypress vale;
Smiling sadly in the gloom;
Sleeping in the fastened tomb—
The tight-shut tomb.
How round the tomb the moving mists
Will twirl so
When the wind blows,
That the ivy twists
And shudders round the cold grey stone:
A serpent on a crumbling throne.
While I, upon a nearby mound
Hear salt tears soaking in the ground;
But there, when’er the lilies bloom,
I hear low laughter in the tomb.
poem by Leon Gellert
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Why He Loves Her
YOU ask me why I love her,
As I love nought on earth?
Why I'll put none above her
For sorrow or for mirth?
Though there be others fairer;
In spirit, richer, rarer;
With none will I compare her,
Who is to me all worth!
I love her for her beauty,
Her force, her fire, her youth,
For kisses cold as duty
Bespeak not love, but ruth.
I love her for the treasure
Of all the rapturous pleasure
Her love gives without measure
Of passion and of truth!
I love her firm possession
Of instincts fair and true;
Her hatred of oppression
And all the wrong men do;
Her fiery, unflawed purity,
Her spirit's proud security,
Defying all futurity,
And fate and fortune too.
And O, my love, I love you
For where words faint and fall
Something in you above you,
Some mystery magical;
Some spell that's past concealing,
Some influence past revealing,
Some deeper depth than feeling
And life and death and all!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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Each Petal Time Slips
love at new bud
rich blood rose
unfold open life
each petal time slips
days passing peaks
at sun in love hopes
to spread in love true
in complexities hue
interlaced I love you
petals part in rich love scent
grace silver lovers moon sent
beauty heavens touch meant
petals curl in ages fold
fall time spent to mold
memories spun in gold
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Thy Beauty Fades
Thy beauty fades and with it too my love,
For 'twas the self-same stalk that bore its flower;
Soft fell the rain, and breaking from above
The sun looked out upon our nuptial hour;
And I had thought forever by thy side
With bursting buds of hope in youth to dwell,
But one by one Time strewed thy petals wide,
And every hope's wan look a grief can tell:
For I had thoughtless lived beneath his sway,
Who like a tyrant dealeth with us all,
Crowning each rose, though rooted on decay,
With charms that shall the spirit's love enthral,
And for a season turn the soul's pure eyes
From virtue's changeless bloom that time and death defies.
poem by Jones Very
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Too Late
Too late the prize is drawn, the goal attained.
Too late, too late, our heart's desire is gained.
Wealth's use is past; Fame's crown of laurel mocks
The downward drooping head and grizzled locks.
The end is reached — the end of toil and strife —
The end of life.
Love flowers and fades like grass, and flowers again,
And strong young hearts spend all their strength in vain.
The fiery passions burn out, one by one,
And then, too late, when our best days are done,
Spirit and body find their perfect mate —
Too late, too late!
Long sought, long seeking, through the lonely years,
We meet at last to weep our useless tears
For time and chance irrevocably flown,
For dreams outlived and fervent hopes outgrown,
For babes unborn, for myriad joys unseen,
That might have been.
Too late, too late! And yet the priceless boon
Might ne'er have come to bless us, late or soon;
And only comes, like Holy Grail, to those
Made wise and pure by bitter needs and woes.
We learn the worth of life when life is o'er,
And not before.
Not for the spring and morning time of youth
The perfect flower of slow- unfolding truth —
The perfect love, deep, passionate, and strong,
That comes of wanting much and waiting long.
This glorious fire is of the setting sun
When day is done.
This harvest wealth, this crowning gift of fate,
This fruit of suffering years, must aye come late;
And only seeking spirit and ripe mind —
Only a few — the matchless treasure find,
And find, despite all time and chances lost,
'Twas worth the cost.
Ah me! To stand upon this height at last,
Ere eyes are dim or daylight overpast;
To see one aim achieved, one dream fulfilled,
Ere striving brain and hoping heart are stilled;
To know that we have borne a lifelong pain
Not all in vain!
O, not too late, if once we reach the goal —
If once we satisfy this hungry soul —
If only for a year, a day, an hour,
We drink our fill of life's true bliss and power.
If we but touch that point, we conquer fate
Not quite too late!
poem by Ada Cambridge
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