En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The City of the Soul: II

What shall we do, my soul, to please the King?
Seeing he hath no pleasure in the dance,
And hath condemned the honeyed utterance
Of silver flutes and mouths made round to sing.
Along the wall red roses climb and cling,
And oh! my prince, lift up thy countenance,
For there be thoughts like roses that entrance
More than the languors of soft lute-playing.

Think how the hidden things that poets see
In amber eves or mornings crystalline,
Hide in the soul their constant quenchless light,
Till, called by some celestial alchemy,
Out of forgotten depths, they rise and shine
Like buried treasure on Midsummer night.

poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
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A Song Of Roses

'Tis time to sing of roses: of roses all ablow,
To every vagrant passing breeze they dip a courtesy low,
'Tis time to sing of roses! for June is here, you know.

One song for true love's roses of sweetest deepest red,
Some heart will wear you faithfully when life itself hath fled,
And for the white rose sing a song--the white rose for the dead.

And ah! the yellow roses, of brightest, lightest gold,
King Midas must have touched their leaves in mystic days of old,
Or they were made of sunshine, and gilded, fold by fold.

And the roadside rose, sweet-briar, we would remember thee
And the cinnamon rose that evermore enthralls each passing bee,
You old, old-fashioned roses, a-growing wild and free.

'Tis time to sing of roses! of roses all ablow!
They come again, as sweet, my dear, as those of long ago.
'Tis time to sing of roses! for June is here you know.

poem by Virna Sheard
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Mothers Day2007

She hath my heart, she is my mum.
She hath my heart, she is my only, she is my one.
She hath my heart, though rough winds may blow.
She hath my heart, still her love will flow, her love will always show.
She hath my heart, I thank my lucky stars.
She hath my heart and i have hers.
She hath my heart, i long for her presence.
She hath my heart, her name is essence.
She hath my heart and forever she will.
Lifetimes will come and go, i will love her still
She hath my heart, this fact i cant conceal
Our bond is like sentiment you just cant kill
She hath my heart in times of sorrow.
She hath my heart, yesterday, today and tomorrow.
She hath my heart, my voice will sing.
She hath my heart, she makes the bell in my heart ring.
She hath my heart, in times of trouble.
She wont stumble no i will not let her crumble.
She hath my heart in each and every way
And my love for her grows with each day
She hath my heart for we were once one.
She hath my heart, the heart of the boy inside the man
I hath her heart, the heart we once shared.
Though separated in body the hearts still paired.
She hath my heart i need her near.
She hath my heart my mama dear
She hath my heart and she already knows
In a world of thorny bushes she stands out like rose
She hath my heart for she is always by my side
When the sun sets she is my light, she is my guide.

poem by Soul Child
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The Dole Of The King's Daughter (Breton)

Seven stars in the still water,
And seven in the sky;
Seven sins on the King's daughter,
Deep in her soul to lie.

Red roses are at her feet,
(Roses are red in her red-gold hair)
And O where her bosom and girdle meet
Red roses are hidden there.

Fair is the knight who lieth slain
Amid the rush and reed,
See the lean fishes that are fain
Upon dead men to feed.

Sweet is the page that lieth there,
(Cloth of gold is goodly prey,)
See the black ravens in the air,
Black, O black as the night are they.

What do they there so stark and dead?
(There is blood upon her hand)
Why are the lilies flecked with red?
(There is blood on the river sand.)

There are two that ride from the south and east,
And two from the north and west,
For the black raven a goodly feast,
For the King's daughter rest.

There is one man who loves her true,
(Red, O red, is the stain of gore!)
He hath duggen a grave by the darksome yew,
(One grave will do for four.)

No moon in the still heaven,
In the black water none,
The sins on her soul are seven,
The sin upon his is one.

poem by Oscar Wilde
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Man's Medley

Hark, how the birds do sing,
and woods do ring.
All creatures have their joy: and man hath his.
Yet if we rightly measure,
Man's joy and pleasure
Rather hereafter, than in present, is.

To this life things of sense
Make their pretense:
In th'other Angels have a right by birth:
Man ties them both alone,
And makes them one,
With th'one hand touching heav'n, with th'other earth.

In soul he mounts and flies,
In flesh he dies.
He wears a stuff whose thread is coarse and round,
But trimm'd with curious lace
And should take place
After the trimming, not the stuff and ground.

Not that he may not here
Taste of the cheer,
But as birds drink, and straight lift up their head,
So must he sip and think
Of better drink
He may attain to, after he is dead.

But as his joys are double,
So is his trouble.
He hath two winters, other things but one:
Both frosts and thoughts do nip,
And bite his lip;
And he of all things fears two deaths alone.

Yet ev'n the greatest griefs
May be reliefs,
Could he but take them right, and in their ways.
Happy is he, whose heart
Hath found the art
To turn his double pains to double praise.

poem by George Herbert
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The Ballad Of Saint Vitus

Vitus came tripping over the grass
When all the leaves in the trees were green,
Through the green meadows he did pass
On the day he was full seventeen.

The lark was singing up over his head,
As he went by so lithe and fleet,
And the flowers danced in white and red
At the treading of his nimble feet.

His neck was as brown as the brown earth is
When first the young brown plough-boys delve it,
And his lips were as red as mulberries
And his eyes were like the soft black velvet.

His silk brown hair was touched with bronze,
And his brown cheeks had the tender hue
That like a dress the brown earth dons
When the pink carnations bloom anew.

He was slim as the reeds that sway all along
The banks of the lake, and as straight as a rush,
And as he passed he sang a song,
And his voice was as sweet as the voice of a thrush,

He sang of the Gardens of Paradise,
And the light of God that never grows dim,
And the cherubim with their radiant eyes,
And the rainbow wings of the Seraphim.

And the host as countless as all days,
That worships there, and ceases not,
Singing and praising God always,
With lute and flute and angelot.

And the blessed light of Mary's face
As she sits among these pleasant sounds,
And Christ that is the Prince of Grace,
And the five red flowers that be His wounds.

And so he went till he came to the doors
Of the ivory house of his father the King,
And all through the golden corridors,
As he passed along, he ceased to sing.

But a pagan priest had seen him pass,
And heard his voice as he went along
Through the fields of the bending grass, -
And he heard the words of the holy song.

And he sought the King where he sat on his throne,
And the tears of wrath were in his eyes,
And he said, ' O Sire, be it known
That thy son singeth in this wise ;

'Of the blessed light of Mary's face
As she sits amidst sweet pleasant sounds,
And how that Christ is the Prince of Grace,
And hath five flowers that be His wounds.'

And when the King had heard this thing,
His brow grew black as a winter night,
And he bade the pages seek and bring
Straightway the prince before his sight.

And Vitus came before the King,
And the King cried out, ' I pray thee, son,
Sing now the song that thou didst sing
When thou cam'st through the fields anon.'

And the face of the prince grew white as milk,
And he answered nought, but under the band
That held his doublet of purple silk
Round his slight waist, he thrust his hand.

And the King picked up a spear, and cried,
' What hast thou there ? by the waters of Styx,
Speak or I strike,' and the boy replied,
' Sweet Sire, it is a crucifix.' .

And the King grew black with rage and grief,
And for a full moment he spake no word.
And the spear in his right hand shook like a leaf,
And the vein on his brow was a tight blue cord.

Then he laughed and said, in bitter scorn,
' Take me this Christian fool from my sight,
Lock him in the turret till the morn,
And let him dance alone to-night.

'He shall sit in the dark while the courtly ball
All the gay night sweeps up and down
On the polished floor of the golden hall,
And thus shall he win his martyr's crown.'

Thus spake the King, and the courtiers smiled,
And Vitus hung his head for shame ;
And he thought, ' I am punished like a child,
That would have died for Christ's dear Name.'

And so 'twas done, and on that night,
While silk and sword, with fan and flower,
Danced in the hall in the golden light,
Prince Vitus sat in the lone dark tower.

But the King bethought him, and was moved,
Ere the short summer night was done,
And his heart's blood yearned for the son he loved,
His dainty prince, his only son.

And all alone he climbed the stair,
With the tired feet of a sceptred King,
And came to the door, and lo ! he was 'ware
Of the sound of flute and lute-playing.

And as the King stood there amazed,
The iron door flew open wide,
And the King fell down on his knees as he gazed
At the wondrous thing he saw inside.

For the room was filled with a soft sweet light
Of ambergris and apricot,
And round the walls were angels bright,
With lute and flute and angelot.

On lute and angelot they played,
With their gold heads bowed upon the strings,
And the soft wind that the slim flutes made,
Stirred in the feathers of their wings.

And in the midst serene and sweet
With God's light on his countenance
Was Vitus, with his gold shod feet,
Dancing in a courtly dance.

And round him were archangels four,
Michael, who guards God's citadel,
Raphael, whom children still implore,
And Gabriel and Uriel.

Thus long ago was Christ's behest,
And the saving grace that His red wounds be,
Unto this king made manifest,
And all his land of Sicily.

God sits within the highest Heaven,
His mercy neither tires nor faints,
All good gifts that may be given,
He gives unto His holy Saints.

This was the joy that Vitus gat;
To dance with Angels knee by knee,
Before he came to man's estate :
God send us all such Company.
Amen.

poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
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The Voice of the Swamp Oak

Who hath lain him underneath
A lone oak by a lonely stream;
He hath heard an utterance breathe
Sadder than all else may seen.
Up in its dusk boughs out-tressing,
Like the hair of a giant’s head,
Mournful things beyond our guessing
Day and night are uttered.

Even when the waveless air
May only stir the lightest leaf,
A lowly voice keeps moaning there
Wordless oracles of grief.

But when nightly blasts are roaming,
Lowly is that voice no more;
From the streaming branches coming
Elfin shrieks are heard to pour.

While between the blast on-passing,
And the blast that comes as oft,
Mid those boughs, dark intermassing,
One long low wail pines aloft.

Till the listener surely deems
That some weird spirit of the air
Hath made those boughs the lute of themes
Wilder, darker than despair.

Darker than a woe whose morrow
Must be travelling to an end—
Wilder than the wildest sorrow
That in death hath still a friend;

Some lonely spirit that hath dwelt
For ages in one lonely tree—
Some weary spirit that hath felt
The burthen of eternity.

poem by Charles Harpur
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Roses Are Red (Jessica)

Roses are red Violets are blue,
Honey is so sweet and so are you darling!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
You've made my dreams come true!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I have my brown eyes glued on YOU!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I feel like i have known you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
You are so FINE that you give me the BLUES!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
Lord knows that im falling for you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I just want to Rock with you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
These lips can't wait to be kissing you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I do anything to claim you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I bow down to you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I've never met anyone as HOT as you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
never knew i would meet you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I'm going to bed would you like to come too!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I rather spend my precious time with you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
You are beautiful as sparkling DIAMOND!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
You have me speechless everytime i talk to you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
May i have this dance with you (JESSICA)

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I have mentioned your name so many time i have lost count!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I dont want no-one if i cant have you. #PERIOD

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I want to give you everlasting Joy, Happiness, and especially LOVE!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I'm the one who will make your dreams come true

Roses are red Violets are blue,
Chilli is hot and so are you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
JESSICA ITA JAMES WILL YOU BE MY GIRLFRIEND! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

Roses are red Violets are blue,
THIS POEM WAS MADE FOR YOU.......

poem by Obi Onyenwe
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Roses Can Wound

Roses can wound,
But not from having thorns they do most harm;
Often the night gives, starry-sheen or moon'd,
Deep in the soul alarm.
And it hath been deep within my heart like fear,
Girl, when you are near.
The mist of sense,
Wherein the soul goes shielded, can divide,
And she must cringe and be ashamed, and wince,
Not in appearance hide
Of rose or girl from the blazing mastery
Of bared Eternity.

poem by Lascelles Abercrombie
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I Want To Sleep On A Bed Of Roses

I want to sleep on a bed of roses,
I want their fragrance to invade our senses,
In the velvet dark night i want you there by my side,
You and me on a bed of roses.

Was just the sunset and it's coming the night,
When love exists, even the silence is full with light,
I want to share my dreams only with you,
You and me on a bed of roses.

And when the sun rise up and light came in,
I want to wake up gently and to feel like a queen,
Surrounded by petals, with a velvet touch,
You and me on a bed of roses.

poem by Cristina Teodor
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Image on the Mirror

Mirror mirror on the wall
Who is the fairest of them all?
Snow-white got lucky with an answer
For the others, it’s a question worth a ponder

The mirror will give you an answer
It’s view restricted to only your external plaster
Look deep inside yourself, for your real power
Its hidden, and only for you to uncover

Some are fair, others are dark, yet do not fret
It’s only the coat, we all will have to shed
It’s the colour of your soul
The mirror will not show
So keep it clean, always with a glow

It needs no ‘Colin’ to keep the shine
Good thoughts is just fine
Its is precious and cannot be shared
It is a treasure that needs to be cared

Mirrors are fragile and breakable
Soul is immortal, but only if impeccable
Thoughts and deeds, the energy that keep it going
While good souls keep glowing
Bad ones are worth ignoring

Mirror and the body are both physical
Thoughts and soul being spiritual
While one has to break and the other has to die
Keep your thoughts forever clean
it is needed to lift and help your soul to always fly

poem by Girija Menon
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The Holy Rosary (Roses to Mother Mary)

Roses that can never fade;
Roses white and red in shade;
Roses that are heaven-made;
Roses in Mary’s crown laid!

Roses from the hearts that pray;
Roses blossoming night, day;
Roses living all the way;
Roses fit for any Fay!

Roses that will always stay;
Roses brighter than sun’s ray;
Roses everlasting, Aye!
Roses that she can’t say, ’nay’!

The spiritual best weapon,
That brings favors from her son,
That serves to solve problems mundane,
And makes souls fit for life divine!

‘PRAYERS THAT YOU CAN SAY ALL LIFE
TO KEEP AWAY FROM EVERY STRIFE! ’
dedicated to the 'Holy Family Church Grotto' Perundurai

Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-12-10

poem by John Celes
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Oh Lady, Let the Sad Tears Fall

Oh Lady, let the sad tears fall
To speak thy pain,
Gently as through the silver dusk
The silver rain.

Oh, let thy bosom breathe its grief
In such soft sigh
As hath the wind in gardens where
Pale roses die.

poem by Adelaide Crapsey
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To Her Whose Name

To her whose name,
With its sweet sibilant sound like sudden showers
Splashing the grass and flowers,
Hath set my April heart aflame;

To her whose face,
The flower and crown of all created things,
Dearer than even Spring's,
Hath been to me a sacrament of grace;

Whose luminous mind,
Stored with all gladness of the earth and sky,
Hath lightened my sad eye
And made it wise in love which erst was blind;

Whose voice of pleasure,
Calling to joys as a blithe wedding bell
When ringers ring it well,
Hath tuned my soul to its own happy measure;

Whose blessed hand,
With its white mystery of fingers five,
Each one a soul alive,
Hath taught me truths no angels understand;

Whose arms within,
Should she once clasp me to her very heart,
God knoweth we should not part
But live for aye in Heaven's own bliss divine;

To her, alas,
Who is so near, yet standeth still so far,
Seeing the mortal bar
Betwixt us ever which we cannot pass,

These lines I send
With my heart's tears to--night beseeching her,
Of her dear love more dear,
To be no less to me my sweetest soul and friend.

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The Lamp of Poor Souls

[In many English churches before the Reformation there was kept a little lamp continually burning, called the Lamp of Poor Souls. People were reminded thereby to pray for the souls of those dead whose kinsfolk were too poor to pay for prayers and masses.]

Above my head the shields are stained with rust,
The wind has taken his spoil, the moth his part;
Dust of dead men beneath my knees, and dust,
Lord, in my heart.

Lay Thou the hand of faith upon my fears;
The priest has prayed, the silver bell has rung,
But not for him. O unforgotten tears,
He was so young!

Shine, little lamp, nor let thy light grow dim.
Into what vast, dread dreams, what lonely lands,
Into what griefs hath death delivered him,
Far from my hands?

Cradled is he, with half his prayers forgot.
I cannot learn the level way he goes.
He whom the harvest hath remembered not
Sleeps with the rose.

Shine, little lamp, fed with sweet oil of prayers.
Shine, little lamp, as God's own eyes may shine,
When He treads softly down His starry stairs
And whispers, "Thou art Mine."

Shine, little lamp, for love hath fed thy gleam.
Sleep, little soul, by God's own hands set free.
Cling to His arms and sleep, and sleeping, dream,
And dreaming, look for me.

poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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My Sweet Red Roses

O my Sweet Red Roses,
For ages I've been searching looking
For my sweet red roses,
Hopping round like a Kangaroo
Hoping to fall in love
With my sweet red roses.

As I firmly
Hold My Sweet Red Roses
Nearest Dearest to my heart
Like Christ born on Christmas Day
Lying in a manger
With eyes wide shut,
Her face incomparable to entire nature.
And as I closely
Hold my sweet red roses,
To myself,
Her wanderlust of holiness
Fills me up
Ushers me to her depth,
And I bear my soul to
My sweet red roses.

By day,
Her smile gives sunshine
Speaking gives life.
And by night,
Living grabs my love
And her very thoughts
Gives me hope.

O My Sweet Red Roses
Even when unconscious
Cannot breath
Cannot feel
Cannot talk
Cannot move nor touch,
It is you I shall continue remain loving,
Because your loving is in the Heaven's
Faithfulness up to the clouds
Beautifulness to the white snow.

O My Sweet Red Roses,
A thousand times I shall care
A million dimes I shall cherish
A billion rhymes I shall honor
A trillion dines I shall spring,
And a zillion miles I shall love
My sweet red roses.

O yes, yes,
My sweet red roses,
Mm yes, yes...
My sweet red roses.

poem by Francis Julian Zewu
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Consolation

All the roses that I see now
I planted where you're not.
And all of those roses still do bloom
in my favorite spot.

There you were buried not long ago
and I visit where you're not.
For surely a soul as sweet as yours
would never grace a plot.

But still I visit and water the roses
and pray that you can see
what this small act of tending
has been able to do for me.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Coming Up Roses

Im a junkyard full of false starts
And I dont need yr permission
To bury my love under this bare light bulb
The moon is a sickle cell
Itll kill you in time
You cold white brother riding yr blood
Like spun glass in sore eyes
While the moon does its division youre buried below
And youre coming up roses everywhere you go
Red roses follow
The things that you tell yourself
Theyll kill you in time
You cold white brother alive in yr blood
Spinning in the night sky
While the moon does its division youre buried below
And youre coming up roses everywhere you go
Red roses
So you got in a kind of trouble that nobody knows
And youre coming up roses everywhere you go
Red roses

song performed by by Elliott Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thorn-less Roses

You strip the thorns from all my roses;
they preen themselves
in the Soul Dust
from your eyes.

The brook in my heart
plumbs your depths
rush down
the waterfall
to swirling
rapids below,
tracing the path
to our
Spiritual Sea;
settling there
in the peace
Thorn-Less Roses bring.

There among the sediments
layered over these years
are our hopes;
our dreams;
the children who lay down
to dream each night,
as we once dreamed,

of pretty roses
and deep blue seas.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Mama Liked The Roses

(words & music by j. christopher)
Oh, mama liked the roses she grew them in the yard
But winter always came around and made the growing way too hard
Oh, mama liked the roses and when she had the time
Shed decorate the living room, for all us kids to see
When I hear the sunday bells ringing in the morning
I remember crying when she used to sing
Oh, mama liked the roses but most of all she cared
About the way we learned to live
And if we said our prayers
You know I kept the family bible
With a rose that she saved inside
It was pressed between the pages
Like it had found a place to hide
Oh, mama liked the roses in such a special way
We bring them every mothers day
And put them on her grave
Oh, mama liked the roses mmmm
Mama liked the roses

song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soft Things

Soft things
You want soft things
You need soft things
Youll get soft things
You register a motion
You get a helpful hint
Theres a certain way it shivers when she shakes
Her mind seemed so chaotic
Her posture was erotic
And her voice was exotic
I acted so neurotic
I thought it idiotic
Her dance was so technotic
She became hypnotic
And now Im calling out for soft things
Something soft when times get hard
And now Im calling out for soft things
When something calls you youll know what to do
You find a longer wavelength
You hear a deeper note
Its a buried treasure that she doesnt hide

song performed by by Devo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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