The Fable Of Midas
Midas, we are in story told,
Turn'd every thing he touch'd to gold:
He chipp'd his bread; the pieces round
Glitter'd like spangles on the ground:
A codling, ere it went his lip in,
Would straight become a golden pippin.
He call'd for drink; you saw him sup
Potable gold in golden cup:
His empty paunch that he might fill,
He suck'd his victuals thro' a quill.
Untouch'd it pass'd between his grinders,
Or't had been happy for gold-finders:
He cock'd his hat, you would have said
Mambrino's helm adorn'd his head;
Whene'er he chanced his hands to lay
On magazines of corn or hay,
Gold ready coin'd appear'd instead
Of paltry provender and bread;
Hence, we are by wise farmers told
Old hay is equal to old gold:
And hence a critic deep maintains
We learn'd to weigh our gold by grains.
This fool had got a lucky hit;
And people fancied he had wit,
Two gods their skill in music tried
And both chose Midas to decide:
He against Ph[oelig]bus' harp decreed,
And gave it for Pan's oaten reed:
The god of wit, to show his grudge,
Clapt asses' ears upon the judge,
A goodly pair, erect and wide,
Which he could neither gild nor hide.
And now the virtue of his hands
Was lost among Pactolus' sands,
Against whose torrent while he swims
The golden scurf peels off his limbs:
Fame spreads the news, and people travel
From far, to gather golden gravel;
Midas, exposed to all their jeers,
Had lost his art, and kept his ears.
This tale inclines the gentle reader
To think upon a certain leader;
To whom, from Midas down, descends
That virtue in the fingers' ends.
What else by perquisites are meant,
By pensions, bribes, and three per cent.?
By places and commissions sold,
And turning dung itself to gold?
By starving in the midst of store,
As t'other Midas did before?
None e'er did modern Midas chuse
Subject or patron of his muse,
But found him thus their merit scan,
That Phoebus must give place to Pan:
He values not the poet's praise,
Nor will exchange his plums for bays.
To Pan alone rich misers call;
And there's the jest, for Pan is ALL.
Here English wits will be to seek,
Howe'er, 'tis all one in the Greek.
Besides, it plainly now appears
Our Midas, too, has ass's ears:
Where every fool his mouth applies,
And whispers in a thousand lies;
Such gross delusions could not pass
Thro' any ears but of an ass.
But gold defiles with frequent touch,
There's nothing fouls the hand so much;
And scholars give it for the cause
Of British Midas' dirty paws;
Which, while the senate strove to scour,
They wash'd away the chemic power.
While he his utmost strength applied,
To swim against this popular tide,
The golden spoils flew off apace,
Here fell a pension, there a place:
The torrent merciless imbibes
Commissions, perquisites, and bribes,
By their own weight sunk to the bottom;
Much good may't do 'em that have caught 'em!
And Midas now neglected stands,
With ass's ears, and dirty hands.
poem by Jonathan Swift
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Related quotes
King Midas In Reverse
The Hollies
King Midas In Reverse
(Allan Clarke/Tony Hicks/but mainly Graham Nash)
Single release 1967
If you could only see me
I know exactly where I am
You wouldn't want to be me
Oh, I can assure you of that
I'm not the guy to run with
'Cos I'll throw you off the line
I'll break you and destroy you
Given time.
He's King Midas with a curse
He's King Midas in reverse
He's King Midas with a curse
He's King Midas in reverse
It's plain to see it's hopeless
Going on the way we are
So even though I'd lose you
You'd be better off by far
He's not the man to hold your trust
Everything he touches turns to dust
In his hands
Nothing he can do is right
He'd even like to sleep at night
But he can't.
{Interlude with 'all he touches turns to dust' 4x}
I wish someone would find me
And help me gain control
Before I lose my reason
And my soul
He's King Midas with a curse
He's King Midas in reverse
He's King Midas with a curse (all he touches turns to dust)
He's King Midas in reverse (all he touches turns to dust)
{fade out}
He's King Midas with a curse (all he touches turns to dust)
He's King Midas in reverse (all he touches turns to dust)
He's King Midas with a curse....
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On A Certain Poets Judgement Between Mr Pope & Mr Philips Don In An Italian Air
Upon a time, and in a place,
With Pan Apollo playd,
Grave Midas sat to Judge ye case,
And Pan ye Victour made.
The Rustick to his Fauns withdrew;
Whilst on ye silver wing
Sweet Phœbus for Parnassus flew
To hear his Homer sing.
Yet ere he went to Midas said,
Ile fitt you for your Jears,
So took two leaves from off his head,
And stuck them in his ears.
Tis hence he thinks the bays his own,
And hence it comes to pass
That as we think his ears are grown
We sooner find the Ass.
poem by Thomas Parnell
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Midas Touches
This I will handle in another way.
To keep the scent fresh and away from decay.
Like a new hip beat,
That...
Will move your feet.
And...
Up on your list.
I want this lifted.
To crush all fussing.
With a must that's hushed!
You need that midas...
Touch that rushes!
You know it's needed.
And I'm here to feed it.
Needed...
Are my midas touches.
Don't blush and gush.
I'm gonna give that midas rush.
Needed...
Are my midas touches.
Don't blush and gush.
I'm gonna give that midas rush.
This I will handle in another way.
To keep the scent fresh and away from decay.
Like a new hip beat,
That...
Will move your feet.
And...
You need that midas...
Touch that rushes!
You know it's needed.
And I'm here to feed it.
Needed...
Are my midas touches.
Don't blush and gush.
I'm gonna give that midas rush.
You need that midas...
Touch,
That rushes!
You know it's needed.
And I'm here to feed it.
Needed...
Are my midas touches.
Don't blush and gush.
I'm gonna give that midas rush.
Needed...
Are my midas touches.
Like a new hip beat,
That...
Will move your feet.
And...
Needed...
Are my midas touches.
Like a new hip beat,
That...
Will move your feet.
And...
Needed...
Are my midas touches.
Don't rush or cuss...
With a fussing that doesn't do much!
Needed...
Are my midas touches.
Like a new hip beat,
That...
Will move your feet.
And...
Needed...
Are my midas touches.
Don't rush or cuss...
With a fussing that doesn't do much!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The inner magnet sings like flower to bee, like bee to flower
The inner magnet sings
like flower to bee; like bee to flower -
Some traditions say, that
we all have an inner sound; which
we can train; or can leave it be..
as gold for Midas; Midas, so, for gold;
and this, it's said, calls pupil to their teacher;
teacher to their pupil; it is
that yearning to know more
that draws the two to unity;
anmd so the holy men
show no surprise to see you there
(unsure, nonplussed, and wondering..)
at their holy feet which are not theirs..
holy chicken, holy egg...
so here I sit, pen down, and silent, still,
loving this idea; asking nothing;
treasuring, now, this sound
I cannot hear as yet;
and yet, may be as loud
as pindropp silence in the heart:
the lovely sound
of listening itself.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Setting Sun
Just before the sun starts to set, a gentle golden glow
Spreads across the weary world, way down below.
The sun has the Midas touch; a touch of pure gold,
But it’s not long until the world starts to fall cold.
The sky is streaked with shades of pinks and reds,
Signalling that, tomorrow, there’s a fine day ahead.
In the late noon sky, there’s a spectacular show;
A myriad of colours, before the daylight goes.
The colours that are seen, all have a warm hue:
They look so amazing against the sky so blue.
It’s when people, from their tasks, pack away,
And has always been my favourite time of day.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Alchemy Of King Midas
The king had cause to worry much
Though "World's richest man" be told
Alas there was nobody Midas dare touch
'Lest he turn them into solid gold
One day the King did shake a fist,
At God for punishing him this way
"I only wanted wealth" he hissed
Then on bended knees began to pray
"Lord I'm sorry for my selfishness
I'm sorry for unbridled greed
I pray you once again will bless
This wretched soul in dire need
God looked down after brief silence;
In gentle voice these words were spoken
"Thou hast sinned and tried mine patience
I'm pleased to see thy pride is broken"
"I lift My Gift thou hast be-spoiled,
Restored thy privilege to touch others,
Wash thine hands that once were soiled
Pledge this day to serve thy brothers"
King Midas with gratitude then cried out;
"Thy mercy Lord shall never be in doubt"
ROTMS
View ROTMS poems, images & video at;
ROTMS.blogspot.com
poem by Ray Lucero
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I have become rather like King Midas, except that everything turns not into gold but into a circus.
quote by Albert Einstein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Emerald City Sequence
(quincy jones/charlie smalls)
Emerald city green:
I want to be seen green
Wouldnt be caught dead, red
cause if you are seen green
It means you got mean bread
Youve got to be seen green
To show that youre stuffs layed
If youre not seen green
You better be wearing jade
Oh, youve got to be seen green
Dont tell them your cupboards bare
That you gave up one weeks feed
To pay for your colored hair
Oh, oh, oh
An announcement from the great powerful oz:
I thought it over and green is dead
till I change my mind, the color is red
Emerald city red:
I wouldnt be seen green
Ooo! oo! oo! ah! ah!
I wouldnt be caught dead
And if Im caught at all
Then catch me in dead, red
Ooo!
Youve got to be dead red
Youve got to be real hot
So throw away those green gems
And wear rubies on your yacht
Youve got to be dead, red
Youve got to have flash and flair
And if youre not seen red
Then you shouldnt be seen nowhere
Ah!
How quickly fashion goes down the drain.
Last week when you all was wearin pink
Already for me red was old.
The ultimate brick is gold.
Thats the new color, children
Emerald city gold:
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
You got to be seen gold
Watch out for the new kind
You got to have old gold
Like some from a gold mine
You got to be wearin gold
The twenty four carat kind
And once youve shined it up
It should ought to make you blind, ah!
You got to be seen in gold
To show that youre super slick
It helps to pay tips and tolls
Its the ultimate yellow brick
Its the ultimate
Gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Golden gold
Gold, gold, gold, gold
Gold!
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's The Things You Do
Chorus:
It's the things you do
That have made me fall
So in love with you
You can have it all
What else can I do
Nothin' left to prove
It's the things you do
(It's the things you do)
You touched my love line
So deep inside I
Never thought I'd feel so good
Oh no
No need to hide now
Open up your mind now
Let me make it understood
Because
Bridge:
Cos nobody ever said to me
All of the things we shared within
Now that I know that you can see
Let me fill you up
Chorus
(It's the things you do)
You and me baby like the ABC
K-I-S-S-I-N-G
Could it be unity
I need like J Hoffa
Romance your body
Work it out - mm proper
One of the finest
Things on my mind is
How you make me feel like gold queen Midas
Straight A plus the material I bust
But the things that you do
Keep me up and it's a must
Bridge
It's the things you do
That have made me fall
So in love with you
You can have it all
What else can I do (what else can I do)
Nothin' left to prove (baby nothing left to prove)
It's the things you do
That have made me fall
So in love with you
You can have it all
What else can I do
Nothin' left to prove
(It's the things you do)
Give me a chance and let me in
There's no need to hide what's there within
Now that I know that you can see
Let me fill you up
You got that Midas touch
I love you more than enough
For all the things that you do
It's the things you do
So in love with you
You can have it all
What else can I do
Nothin' left to prove
It's the things you do
song performed by by Five
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alchimie de la douleur (The Alchemy of Sorrow)
L'un t'éclaire avec son ardeur,
L'autre en toi met son deuil, Nature!
Ce qui dit à l'un: Sépulture!
Dit à l'autre: Vie et splendeur!
Hermès inconnu qui m'assistes
Et qui toujours m'intimidas,
Tu me rends l'égal de Midas,
Le plus triste des alchimistes;
Par toi je change l'or en fer
Et le paradis en enfer;
Dans le suaire des nuages
Je découvre un cadavre cher,
Et sur les célestes rivages
Je bâtis de grands sarcophages.
The Alchemy of Sorrow
One man lights you with his ardor,
Another puts you in mourning, Nature!
That which says to one: sepulcher!
Says to another: life! glory!
You have always frightened me,
Hermes the unknown, you who help me.
You make me the peer of Midas,
The saddest of all alchemists;
Through you I change gold to iron
And make of paradise a hell;
In the winding sheet of the clouds
I discover a beloved corpse,
And on the celestial shores
I build massive sarcophagi.
— Translated by William Aggeler
Alchemy of Sorrow
One puts all nature into mourning,
One lights her like a flaring sun —
What whispers 'Burial' to the one
Cries to the other, 'Life and Morning.'
The unknown Hermes who assists
The role of Midas to reverse,
And makes me by a subtle curse
The saddest of all alchemists —
By him, my paradise to hell,
And gold to slag, is changed too well.
The clouds are winding-sheets, and I,
Bidding some dear-loved corpse farewell,
Along the shore-line of the sky,
Erect my vast sarcophagi.
— Translated by Roy Campbell
Alchimie de la douleur
one lights thee with his flame, another
puts in thee — Nature! — all his gloom!
what says to this man: lo! the tomb!
cries: life and splendour! to his brother.
o mage unknown whose powers assist
my art, and whom I always fear,
thou makest me a Midas — peer
of that most piteous alchemist;
for 'tis through thee I turn my gold
to iron, and in heaven behold
my hell: beneath her cloud-palls I
uncover corpses loved of old;
and where the shores celestial die
I carve vast tombs against the sky.
— Translated by Lewis Piaget Shanks
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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It Has Always Been A Struggle
it has always been a struggle.
time is a thread
connecting two strange bridges
one walks
and balances in order not to fall
to the abyss
of failure
it is always a question of
how i touch love with love
i carry love and the one i touch
does not recognize the warmth of my
hands
it looks at me as though i am a stranger from a very far land
i am always broken and sometimes i wish to have the hands of Midas
not the kind that makes everything gold
i want to have the snake hairs and the gaze that can make those who do not see love in me
turn into stones.
it has always been a struggle and when the shadow of death comes with his sickle
i will speak no word at all
and gladly shall i go with it
it is my wish for now.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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From The Tuscan
WHEN in the west the red sun sank in glory,
The cypress trees stood up like gold, fine gold;
The mother told her little child the story
Of the gold trees the heavenly gardens hold.
In golden dreams the child sees golden rivers,
Gold trees, gold blossoms, golden boughs and leaves,
Without, the cypress in the night wind shivers,
Weeps with the rain and with the darkness grieves.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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That Unusual Search Of The 'in' Thing
when ideas rule the world
it thirsts for images and so images
are made like shadows and
mirages
concrete mountains where
we put our feet and walk
real rivers where we swim and
drown
stones that we feel
stray dogs that we stare at
and be afraid of
it is always a story of what is not there
and gathering them all
and then the trend is lost and we wish
for something else
that one which is always coming
and soon to come and soon to be
worshiped
another idol another hands that turns
fruits into gold
another hunger of Midas
another dead Sphinx another
myth rising from the ashes of
centuries
this afternoon i sit upon a white easy chair
facing the blue sea
my search is over
actually there is nothing there
everything is just
hearsay
a rumor passed from one bad mouth to
another
from one moron to another
i need sleep and i assure you
everything is fine
it is enough.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Monkey Business
The markets up, the Markets down
For weeks it just meanders.
Alas, my stocks are always down
Each time I take a gander.
GM, Lehman, Citicorp
My broker bought for me-
And you can guess the net result-
IHe bought a yacht, not me.
Those friends who don’t avoid me
Say I’ve reversed Midas’ touch.
I don’t turn things I touch to gold
I turn gold into rust.
I’d heard dart tossing Simians
Can best the S & P
So I went to the Zoo this March
to consult a Chimpanzee.
He took the chartt, he threw the dart
And picked a stock for me-
And now I’m getting margin calls
because I bought BP.
He seemed the sage of Omaha
before he ruined me.
I should have tried Orangutans
And paid their higher fee.
They wanted five bananas
My monkey worked for three.
But now I’m bust because I used
the discount Chimpanzee.
I might have dodged a massive loss
And profited besides
Had I but heeded the baboons’
Sell signaling behinds
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Golden Years
Golden years, gold whop whop whop
Golden years, gold whop whop whop
Don't let me hear you say life's taking you nowhere, angel
Come here baby
Look at that sky, life's begun
Nights are warm and the days are young
Come here baby
There's my baby, lost that's all
Once I'm begging you save her little soul
Golden years, gold whop whop whop
Come here baby
Last night they loved you, opening doors and pulling some strings, angel
Come here baby
In walked luck and you looked in time
Never look back, walk tall, act fine
Come here baby
I'll stick with you baby for a thousand years
Nothing's gonna touch you in these golden years, gold
Golden years, gold whop whop whop
Come here baby
Some of these days, and it won't be long
Gonna drive back down where you once belonged
In the back of a dream car twenty foot long
Don't cry my sweet, don't break my heart
Doing all right, but you gotta get smart
Wish upon, wish upon, day upon day, I believe oh lord
I believe all the way
Come here baby
There's my baby, lost that's all
Once I'm begging you save her little soul
Golden years, gold whop whop whop
Come here baby
Don't let me hear you say life's taking you nowhere, angel
Come get up my baby
Run for the shadows, run for the shadows
Run for the shadows in these golden years
I'll stick with you baby for a thousand years
Nothing's gonna touch you in these golden years, gold
Golden years, gold whop whop whop
song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Golden Rose
A POOR lost princess, weary and worn,
Came over the down by the wind-washed moor,
And the king looked out on her grace forlorn,
And he took her in at his palace door.
He made her queen, he gave her a crown,
Bidding her rest and be glad and gay
In his golden town, with a golden gown,
And a new gold lily every day.
But the crown is heavy, the gold gown gray,
And the queen's pale breast is like autumn snows;
For he brings a gold lily every day,
But no king gathers the golden rose.
One came at last to the palace keep
By worlds of water and leagues of land,
Gray were his garments, his eyes were deep,
And he held the golden rose in his hand.
She left gold gown, gold town, gold crown,
And followed him straight to a world apart,
And he left her asleep on the wind-washed down,
With the golden rose on her quiet heart.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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To Mr. H. Lawes on His Airs
Harry, whose tuneful and well-measured song
First taught our English music how to span
Words with just note and accent, not to scan
With Midas’ ears, committing short and long,
Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng,
With praise enough for Envy to look wan;
To after age thou shalt be writ the man
That with smooth air couldst humour best our tongue.
Thou honour’st Verse, and Verse must lend her wing
To honour thee, the priest of Phœbus’ quire,
That tunest their happiest lines in hymn or story.
Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher
Than his Casella, whom he wooed to sing,
Met in the milder shades of Purgatory.
poem by John Milton
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Gold digger and the Golden Goose
Though the miner digs for gold he never gets gold; only the weekend poor wage he counts with tears
And the gold runs to the tycoon.
The poor man's golden goose never lays golden eggs.
*[ According to the ancient Greek fable, the owner killed the goose to get all the gold at once.]
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Silver & Gold
Words and Music by Johnny Marks.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Ev'ryone wishes for silver and gold
How do you measure its worth?
Just by the pleasure it gives here on earth.
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Mean so much more when I see
Silver and gold decorations
On ev'ry Christmas tree.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Wise men brought gifts to the mange I'm told
Mary was humble to see
Shepherds and kings there on bended knees
It's silver and gold, silver and gold
Feeling the world with their lives
Silver and gold how they shimmer on ev'ry Christmas night
On ev'ry Christmas night
Silver, silver and gold
song performed by by Vanessa Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hands Of Midas
it is this desire
that settles outside the fence
it can get in there
and proclaim itself
he can dare
he'd done it
once twice
but he cannot do it
this time
in all those times
when he tried
when he achieved it
not one of them
has told him honestly
that they were
happy
it was more of giving in
because of pity
it is set temporarily
because it said situation
eternity is a mockery
it is the hands of Midas now
what he touches because he loves
shall turn into stone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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