Lines Written in a Blank Page of Milton's Paradise Lost
This happy pair a certain bliss might prove,
Confin'd to constancy and mutual love:
Heaven to one object limited their vows,
The only safety faithless Nature knows.
God saw the wand'ring appetite would range,
And would have kept them from the pow'r to change;
But falsehood, soon as man increas'd, began;
Down through the race the swift contagion ran,
All ranks are tainted, all deceitful prove,
False in all shapes, but doubly false in love.
This makes the censure of the world more just,
That damns with shame the weakness of a trust!
Ere change began, our sex no scandal knew,
All nymphs were chaste as long as swains were true;
But now, tho' by the subtlest art betray'd,
We're so by custom and false maxims sway'd
That infamy still brands the injur'd maid.
poem by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
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The Cautious Lovers
Silvia, let's from the Crowd retire;
For, What to you and me
(Who but each other do desire)
Is all that here we see?
Apart we'll live, tho' not alone;
For, who alone can call
Those, who in Desarts live with One,
If in that One they've All?
The World a vast Meander is,
Where Hearts confus'dly stray;
Where Few do hit, whilst Thousands miss
The happy mutual Way:
Where Hands are by stern Parents ty'd,
Who oft, in Cupid's Scorn,
Do for the widow'd State provide,
Before that Love is born:
Where some too soon themselves misplace;
Then in Another find
The only Temper, Wit, or Face,
That cou'd affect their Mind.
Others (but oh! avert that Fate!)
A well-chose Object change:
Fly, Silvia, fly, ere 'tis too late;
Fall'n Nature's prone to range.
And, tho' in heat of Love we swear
More than perform we can;
No Goddess, You, but Woman are,
And I no more than Man.
Th' impatient Silvia heard thus long;
Then with a Smile reply'd;
Those Bands cou'd ne'er be very strong,
Which Accidents divide.
Who e'er was mov'd yet to go down,
By such o'er-cautious Fear;
Or for one Lover left the Town,
Who might have Numbers here?
Your Heart, 'tis true, is worth them all,
And still preferr'd the first;
But since confess'd so apt to fall,
'Tis good to fear the worst.
In ancient History we meet
A flying Nymph betray'd;
Who, had she kept in fruitful Crete,
New Conquest might have made.
And sure, as on the Beach she stood,
To view the parting Sails;
She curs'd her self, more than the Flood,
Or the conspiring Gales.
False Theseus, since thy Vows are broke,
May following Nymphs beware:
Methinks I hear how thus she spoke,
And will not trust too far.
In Love, in Play, in Trade, in War
They best themselves acquit,
Who, tho' their Int'rests shipwreckt are,
Keep unreprov'd their Wit.
poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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Love's Logic [Couplet Sonnet]
The more ways I find to express my love,
The more I love you, and the better for love,
And more: What more than seek such ways to it;
Expressing love (and therefore to do it) .
And if my love should make me false I would,
For better no false-love than mere falsehood.
How then is love (which others call) more proved
Than mine is? And not merely false-love's truth?
Where love's logic meets between false or not
No arguments have heard but have forgot
That love is truth - and none is love more false
Than proof; So this I swear on life and pulse:
That infinite love's true call expresses
Love is something more than proof professes.
-September 20 2005
poem by David Zvekic
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Can a Maid That Is Well Bred
Can a maid that is well bred,
Hath a blush so lovely red,
Modest looks, wise, mild, discreet,
And a nature passing sweet,
Break her promise, untrue prove,
On a sudden change her love,
Or be won e'er to neglect
Him to whom she vow'd respect?
Such a maid, alas, I know.
Oh that weeds 'mongst corn should grow,
Or a rose should prickles have,
Wounding where she ought to save!
I that did her parts extol,
Will my lavish tongue control.
Outward parts do blind the eyes,
Gall in golden pills oft lies.
Reason wake, and sleep no more,
Land upon some safer shore;
Think on her and be afraid
Of a faithless fickle maid.
Of a faithless flckle maid
Thus true love is still betray'd.
Yet it is some ease to sing
That a maid is light of wing.
poem by Martin Peerson
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To La Sansoeur
I KNOW not how to call you light,
Since I myself was lighter;
Nor can you blame my changing plight
Who were the first inviter.
I know not which began to range
Since we were never constant;
And each when each began to change
Was found a weak remonstrant.
But this I know, the God of Love
Both shake his hand against us,
And scorning says we ne’er did prove
True passion—but pretences.
poem by William Roscoe
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Ring Out , Wild Bells
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more,
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.
Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.
Ring out the want, the care the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.
Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.
Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.
Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Thou Art Not False, But Thou Art Fickle
Thou art not false, but thou art fickle,
To those thyself so fondly sought;
The tears that thou hast forced to trickle
Are doubly bitter from that thought:
'Tis this which breaks the heart thou grievest
Too well thou lov'st - too soon thou leavest.
The wholly false the heart despises,
And spurns deceiver and deceit;
But she who not a thought disguises,
Whose love is as sincere as sweet,
When she can change who loved so truly,
It feels what mine has felt so newly.
To dream of joy and wake to sorrow
Is doom'd to all who love or live;
And if, when conscious on the morrow,
We scarce our fancy can forgive,
That cheated us in slumber only,
To leave the waking soul more lonely,
What must they feel whom no false vision,
But truest, tenderest passion warm'd?
Sincere, but swift in sad transition;
As if a dream alone had charm'd?
Ah! sure such grief is fancy's scheming,
And all thy change can be but dreaming!
Nothing Has Been Proved
(tennant / lowe)
Mandys in the papers cause she tried to go to spain
Shell soon be in the dock and in the papers once again
Vickis got her story about the mirror and the cane
It may be false, it may be true
But nothing has been proved
Stephens in his dressing-gown now, breakfasting alone
Too sick to eat, hes on his feet and to the telephone
The police inspector soothes him with his sympathetic tone
It may be false, it may be true
But nothing has been proved
In the house a resignation
Guilty faces, every one
Christines fallen out with lucky
Johnnys got a gun
Please please mes number one
(its a scandal! its a scandal! such a scandal!)
Now, stephens in the dock for spending money that was earned
By christine, and the prosecution says that money burned
A hole in stephens pocket, for expensive sins he yearned
It may be false, it may be true
But nothing has been proved
In the news the suicide note
In the court an empty space
Even mandys looking worried
Christines pale and drawn
Please please mes number one
(its a scandal! its a scandal! such a scandal!)
Last night he wrote these words to his friend:
Sorry about the mess
Im guilty til proved innocent
In the public eye and press
The funerals very quiet because all his friends have fled
They may be false, they may be true
Theyve all got better things to do
They may be false, they may be true
But nothing has been proved
Nothing
Nothing has been proved
Oh, nothing
Nothing
Oh, nothing
Nothing
Oh, nothing
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Was Not False To Thee
I WAS not false to thee, and yet
My cheek alone looked pale;
My weary eye was dim and wet,
My strength began to fail.
Thou wert the same; thy looks were gay,
Thy step was light and free;
And yet, with truth, my heart can say,
I was not false to thee!
I was not false to thee, yet now
Thou hast a cheerful eye,
With flushing cheek and drooping brow
I wander mournfully.
I hate to meet the gaze of men,
I weep where none can see;
Why do I only suffer, when
I was not false to thee?
I was not false to thee; yet oh!
How scornfully they smile,
Who see me droop, who guess my woe,
Yet court thee all the while.
'Tis strange! but when long years are past,
Thou wilt remember me;
Whilst I can feel until the last,
I was not false to thee!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Time, Hope And Memory
I heard a gentle maiden, in the spring,
Set her sweet sighs to music, and thus sing:
'Fly through the world, and I will follow thee,
Only for looks that may turn back on me;
'Only for roses that your chance may throw—
Though withered—Twill wear them on my brow,
To be a thoughtful fragrance to my brain,—
Warm'd with such love, that they will bloom again.'
'Thy love before thee, I must tread behind,
Kissing thy foot-prints, though to me unkind;
But trust not all her fondness, though it seem,
Lest thy true love should rest on a false dream.'
'Her face is smiling, and her voice is sweet;
But smiles betray, and music sings deceit;
And words speak false;—yet, if they welcome prove,
I'll be their echo, and repeat their love.'
'Only if waken'd to sad truth, at last,
The bitterness to come, and sweetness past;
When thou art vext, then turn again, and see
Thou hast loved Hope, but Memory loved thee.'
poem by Thomas Hood
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God's Test Over Time
that which comes from God endures
that which comes from man perishes
this is the acid test of enduring time
Jesus said many false prophets
will come in my name and will
deceive many but test him true?
“And many false prophets will arise
and mislead many; ” Matthew 24: 11
“But among the people there were
also false prophets, just as there will
be false teachers among you. Under
false pretenses they will introduce
destructive heresies, even denying
the Master who bought them, and thus
bring on themselves swift destruction.” 2 Peter 2: 1
But will they come in his name?
And will they really deceive many?
And will people really believe in them?
“Then if anyone says to YOU, ‘Look!
‘There is the Christ, ’ or, ‘There! ’ do not
believe it. For false Christ's and false
prophets will arise and will give great signs
and wonders so as to mislead, if possible,
even the chosen ones” Matthew 24: 23-24
poem by Terence George Craddock
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When First I Met Thee
When first I met thee, warm and young,
There shone such truth about thee,
And on thy lip such promise hung,
I did not dare to doubt thee.
I saw thee change, yet still relied,
Still clung with hope the fonder,
And thought, though false to all beside,
From me thou couldst not wander.
But go, deceiver! go,
The heart, whose hopes could make it
Trust one so false, so low,
Deserves that thou shouldst break it.
When every tongue thy follies named,
I fled the unwelcome story,
Or found, in even the faults they blamed,
Some gleams of future glory.
I still was true, when nearer friends
Conspired to wrong, to slight thee;
The heart that now thy falsehood rends
Would then have bled to right thee.
But go, deceiver! go --
Some day, perhaps, thou'lt waken
From pleasure's dream, to know
The grief of hearts forsaken.
Even now, though youth its bloom has shed,
No lights of age adorn thee;
The few who loved thee once have fled,
And they who flatter scorn thee.
Thy midnight cup is pledged to slaves,
No genial ties enwreath it;
The smiling there, like light on graves,
Has rank cold hearts beneath it.
Go -- go -- though worlds were thine,
I would not now surrender
One taintless tear of mine
For all thy guilty splendour!
And days may come, thou false one! yet,
When even those ties shall sever!
When thou wilt call, with vain regret,
On her thou'st lost for ever;
On her who, in thy fortune's fall,
With smiles had still received thee,
And gladly died to prove thee all
Her fancy first believed thee.
Go -- go -- 'tis vain to curse,
'Tis weakness to upbraid thee;
Hate cannot wish thee worse
Than guilt and shame have made thee.
poem by Thomas Moore
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The Vow-Breaker
VVhen first the Magick of thine ey,
Usurpt upon my liberty,
Triumphing in my hearts spoyl, thou
Didst lock up thine in such a vow;
When I prove false, may the bright day
Be govern'd by the Moons pale ray!
(As I too well remember) This
Thou said'st, and seald'st it with a kiss.
O Heavens! and could so soon that Ty
Relent in slack Apostacy?
Could all thy Oaths, and morgag'd trust,
Vanish? like letters form'd in dust
Which the next wind scatters. Take heed,
Take heed Revolter; know this deed
Hath wrong'd the world, which will fare worse
By thy Example then thy Curse.
Hide that false Brow in mists. Thy shame
Ne're see light more, but the dimme flame
Of funeral Lamps. Thus sit and moane,
And learn to keep thy guilt at home.
Give it no vent; for if agen
Thy Love or Vowes betray more men,
At length (I fear) thy perjur'd breath
Will blow out day, and waken Death.
poem by Henry King
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Of All The Things
(dennis lambert / brian potter)
Of all the things Ive ever done
Finding you will prove to be
The most important one
I would never trade the tears
The conversation no-one hears
The learning how to walk before we run
Of all the kites I ever flew
Most came tumbling down
Except the one I sent up with you
I dont wanna change a thing
Break the spell
Cut the string
When every wish I made is coming true
With you
Sometimes I forget
To say how much I love you
Purposely I bet
cause Im so busy thinking of you
So, in this world of odds and ends
Id rather have a part of you
Than all of my so-called friends
You have taught me how to feel
What is false and what is real
Of all the things I ever wanna do
I think Ill start and end with loving you
Oh, you have taught me how to feel
What is false and what is real
Of all the things I ever wanna do
I think Ill start and end with loving you
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lucy and Colin
Of Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream
Reflect so fair a face,
Till luckless love and pining care
Impair'd her rosy hue,
Her coral lip, and damask cheek,
And eyes of glossy blue.
Oh! have you seen a lily pale,
When beating rains descend?
So droop'd the slow-consuming maid;
Her life now near its end.
By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains
Take heed, ye easy fair!
Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye perjured swains, beware!
Three times, all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring;
And at her window, shrieking thrice,
The raven flap'd his wing.
Too well the love-lorn maiden knew
That solemn boding sound;
And thus, in dying words, bespoke
The virgins weeping round.
'I hear a voice you cannot hear,
Which says, I must not stay;
I see a hand you cannot see,
Which beckons me away.
'By a false heart and broken vows,
In early youth, I die.
Am I to blame, because his bride
Is thrice as rich as I?
'Ah, Colin! give not her thy vows,
Vows due to me alone.
Nor tho, fond maid, receive his kiss,
Nor think him all thy own.
'To-morrow in the church to wed,
Impatient, both prepare;
But know, fond maid, and know, false man,
That Lucy will be there.
'Then bear my corse, ye comrades, bear,
The bridegroom blithe to meet;
He in his wedding-trim so gay,
I in my winding-sheet.'
She spoke, she died; - her corse was borne,
The bridegroom blithe to meet;
He in his wedding-trim so gay,
She in her winding-sheet.
Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts?
How were those nuptials kept?
The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.
Confusion, shame, remorse, despair,
At once his bosom swell;
The damps of death bedew'd his brow,
He shook, he groan'd, he fell.
From the vain bride (ah, bride no more!)
The varying crimson fled,
When, stretch'd before her rival's corse,
She saw her husband dead.
Then to his Lucy's new-made grave,
Convey'd by trembling swains,
One mould with her, beneath one sod,
For ever now remains.
Oft at their grave the constant hind
And plighted maid are seen;
With garlands gay and true-love knots
They deck the sacred green.
But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art,
This hallow'd spot forbear;
Remember Colin's dreadful fate,
And fear to meet him there.
poem by Thomas Tickell
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Sonnet 20: A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted
A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue, all hues in his controlling,
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created,
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she pricked thee out for women's pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Ballad
I KNOW my love is true,
And oh the day is fair.
The sky is dear and blue,
The flowers are rich of hue,
The air I breathe is rare,
I have no grief or care;
For my own love is true,
And oh the day is fair.
My love is false I find,
And oh the day is dark.
Blows sadly down the wind,
While sorrow holds my mind;
I do not hear the lark,
For quenched is life's dear spark,—
My love is false I find,
And oh the day is dark!
For love doth make the day
Or dark or doubly bright;
Her beams along the way
Dispel the gloom and gray.
She lives and all is bright,
She dies and life is night.
For love doth make the day,
Or dark or doubly bright.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Do Not Believe
Do not believe
Anything true
This east west
This birth death
This eating putting
This going coming
Do not believe
Anything anything.
Do not believe
There is sky
Do not believe
Birds fly
Animals cry
Do not believe
This defeat victory
This land this country
Here and there
You are not free.
Do not believe
Anything true
And you are not false
In this burning rows
There is no distinction
True false
And it is true
And it is false.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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There are no hard distinctions between what is real and what is unreal, nor between what is true and what is false. A thing is not necessarily either true or false; it can be both true and false.
quote by Harold Pinter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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False is down loaded as true
History is necessarily false.
Biography is conveniently false.
Autobiography is selectively false.
Yet those are carried as true.
10.01.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Song. -- Fierce Roars The Midnight Storm
Fierce roars the midnight storm
O'er the wild mountain,
Dark clouds the night deform,
Swift rolls the fountain--
See! o'er yon rocky height,
Dim mists are flying--
See by the moon’s pale light,
Poor Laura's dying!
Shame and remorse shall howl,
By her false pillow--
Fiercer than storms that roll,
O'er the white billow;
No hand her eyes to close,
When life is flying,
But she will find repose,
For Laura’s dying!
Then will I seek my love,
Then will I cheer her,
Then my esteem will prove,
When no friend is near her.
On her grave I will lie,
When life is parted,
On her grave I will die,
For the false hearted.
DECEMBER, 1809.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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