The Dance
Take the name of the swain, a forlorn witless elf
Who was chang'd to a flow'r for admiring himself.
A part deem'd essential in each lady's dress
With what maidens cry when they wish to say yes.
A lullabye carriage, soft, cozy and light
With the name of the Poet who sang on the night.
The queen of Cairo, all lovely and winning
Whose blandishments ever kept Antony grinning.
The flow'r whose odors unremittingly please:
With the glory of forests, the king of the trees.
To the prince of the fairies, a jealous old knave,
Put the name of the tree that undid Mother Eve.
To finish the whole, add that period of day
When the linnet and thrush to repose hie away.
The initials of these, if adjusted with care.
Will show you the fairest where thousands are fair.
The sweet, pretty graces still hover about her
And Cupid would die with vexation without her.
When she swims in the dance or wherever she goes
She's crowded by witlings, plain-fellows, and beaux
Who throng at her elbow and tread on her toes.
If a pin or a hankerchief happen to fall
To seize on the prise fills with uproar the ball;
Such pulling and hawling & shoving & pushing
As rivals the racket of 'key and the cushion;'
And happy- thrice happy! too happy! the swain
Who can replace the pin or bandana again.
Tho the fellows surround & so humbly adore her
The girls on the contrary cannot endure her;
Her beauty their beauty forever disgraces
And her sweeter face still eclipses their faces-
For no lov'ly girl can a lov'ly girl bear
And fair ones are ever at war with the fair.
(Nancy Crooke)
poem by Major Henry Livingston Jr.
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Astrophel's Song Of Phyllida And Corydon
Fair in a morn (O fairest morn!),
Was never morn so fair,
There shone a sun, though not the sun
That shineth in the air.
For the earth, and from the earth,
(Was never such a creature!)
Did come this face (was never face
That carried such a feature).
Upon a hill (O blessèd hill!
Was never hill so blessèd),
There stood a man (was never man
For woman so distressed):
This man beheld a heavenly view,
Which did such virtue give
As clears the blind, and helps the lame,
And makes the dead man live.
This man had hap (O happy man!
More happy none than he);
For he had hap to see the hap
That none had hap to see.
This silly swain (and silly swains
Are men of meanest grace):
Had yet the grace (O gracious gift!)
To hap on such a face.
He pity cried, and pity came
And pitied so his pain,
As dying would not let him die
But gave him life again.
For joy whereof he made such mirth
As all the woods did ring;
And Pan with all his swains came forth
To hear the shepherd sing;
But such a song sung never was,
Nor shall be sung again,
Of Phyllida the shepherds' queen,
And Corydon the swain.
Fair Phyllis is the shepherds' queen,
(Was never such a queen as she,)
And Corydon her only swain
(Was never such a swain as he):
Fair Phyllis hath the fairest face
That ever eye did yet behold,
And Corydon the constant'st faith
That ever yet kept flock in fold;
Sweet Phyllis is the sweetest sweet
That ever yet the earth did yield,
And Corydon the kindest swain
That ever yet kept lambs in field.
Sweet Philomel is Phyllis' bird,
Though Corydon be he that caught her,
And Corydon doth hear her sing,
Though Phyllida be she that taught her:
Poor Corydon doth keep the fields
Though Phyllida be she that owes them,
And Phyllida doth walk the meads,
Though Corydon be he that mows them:
The little lambs are Phyllis' love,
Though Corydon is he that feeds them,
The gardens fair are Phyllis' ground,
Though Corydon is he that weeds them.
Since then that Phyllis only is
The only shepherd's only queen;
And Corydon the only swain
That only hath her shepherd been,--
Though Phyllis keep her bower of state,
Shall Corydon consume away?
No, shepherd, no, work out the week,
And Sunday shall be holiday.
poem by Nicholas Breton
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Sonnet XXIX: The Moonstar
Lady, I thank thee for thy loveliness,
Because my lady is more lovely still.
Glorying I gaze, and yield with glad goodwill
To thee thy tribute; by whose sweet-spun dress
Of delicate life Love labours to assess
My lady's absolute queendom; saying, “Lo!
How high this beauty is, which yet doth show
But as that beauty's sovereign votaress.”
Lady, I saw thee with her, side by side;
And as, when night's fair fires their queen surround,
An emulous star too near the moon will ride,—
Even so thy rays within her luminous bound
Were traced no more; and by the light so drown'd,
Lady, not thou but she was glorified.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Fair and Fair
Oenone:
Fair and fair, and twice so fair,
As fair as any may be;
The fairest shepherd on our green,
A love for any lady.
Paris:
Fair and fair, and twice so fair,
As fair as any may be;
Thy love is fair for thee alone
And for no other lady.
Oenone:
My love is fair, my love is gay,
As fresh as bin the flowers in May
And of my love my roundelay,
My merry, merry, merry roundelay,
Concludes with Cupid's curse,--
'They that do change old love for new
Pray gods they change for worse!'
Ambo Simul:
They that do change old love for new,
Pray gods they change for worse!
Oenone:
Fair and fair, and twice so fair,
As fair as any may be;
The fairest shepherd on our green,
A love for any lady.
Paris:
Fair and fair, and twice so fair,
As fair as any may be;
Thy love is fair for thee alone
And for no other lady.
Oenone:
My love can pipe, my love can sing,
My love can many a pretty thing,
And of his lovely praises ring
My merry, merry, merry roundelays
Amen to Cupid's curse.
poem by George Peele
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Girl Happy
(words & music by pomus - meade)
Girl happy, yes Im girl happy,
Girl happy, cant you see
Every girl I see looks good to me
What crazy way I were to be
I love a life of nothing but beautiful women
Well Im girl happy, yes Im girl happy,
Girl happy, cant you see
Every time I see a pretty face
My heart just heads for outer space
I need a girl to make my life worth of living
Yes, Im girl happy, yes Im girl happy,
Girl happy, cant you see
Ive been like this since I was just a baby boy
First nurse that rocked my cradle made me jump to joy
Mama keep your daughter out of sight
Im in a lovin mood tonight
I love a life of nothing but beautiful women
Well Im girl happy, yes Im girl happy,
Girl happy, cant you see
Ive been like this since I was just a baby boy
First nurse that rocked my cradle made me jump to joy
Girl happy, well Im girl happy,
Yes Im girl happy, cant you see
Girl happy, said Im girl happy,
Yes Im girl happy, cant you see
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The happy lover
He is called the happy lover
for keeping a warm smile always on his face
even when he is feeling sad
no one will never know
and this sweet girl is everything to him
he is ready to do anything for her
a merry couple married for love
no Romio and Juliet or Antony and Cleopatra are compared to them
the happy lover told his sweetheart:
'I will always keep happy and strong just for you'
she told him:
'and I will keep smiling to the happy lover of my own'
sitting under a cherry apple tree, the happy lover said:
' you will always be my fragrant rose and the only sweet girl of mine'
truly the happy lover must be his name!
poem by Rehab Helmy
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A Pastoral Of Phyllis And Corydon
On a hill there grows a flower,
Fair befall the dainty sweet!
By that flower there is a bower,
Where the heavenly Muses meet.
In that bower there is a chair,
Fringèd all about with gold,
Where doth sit the fairest fair
That did ever eye behold.
It is Phyllis, fair and bright,
She that is the shepherds' joy,
She that Venus did despite,
And did blind her little boy.
This is she, the wise, the rich,
That the world desires to see:
This is _ipsa quæ_, the which
There is none but only she.
Who would not this face admire?
Who would not this saint adore?
Who would not this sight desire,
Though he thought to see no more?
O, fair eyes, yet let me see,
One good look, and I am gone:
Look on me, for I am he,
Thy poor silly Corydon.
Thou that art the shepherds' queen,
Look upon thy silly swain;
By thy comfort have been seen
Dead men brought to life again.
poem by Nicholas Breton
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Mary
Sweet Mary the first time she ever was there
Came into the Ball room among the Fair
The young Men and Maidens around her throng
And these are the words upon every tongue
An Angel is here from the heavenly Climes
Or again does return the Golden times
Her eyes outshine every brilliant ray
She opens her lips tis the Month of May
Mary moves in soft beauty and conscious delight
To augment with sweet smiles all the joys of the Night
Nor once blushes to own to the rest of the Fair
That sweet Love and Beauty are worthy our care
In the Morning the Villagers rose with delight
And repeated with pleasure the joys of the night
And Mary arose among Friends to be free
But no Friend from henceforward thou Mary shalt see
Some said she was proud some calld her a whore
And some when she passed by shut to the door
A damp cold came oer her her blushes all fled
Her lillies and roses are blighted and shed
O why was I born with a different Face
Why was I not born like this Envious Racet
Why did Heaven adorn me with bountiful hand
And then set me down in an envious Land
To be weak as a Lamb and smooth as a Dove
And not to raise Envy is calld Christian Love
But if you raise Envy your Merits to blame
For planting such spite in the weak and the tame
I will humble my Beauty I will not dress fine
I will keep from the Ball and my Eyes shall not shine
And if any Girls Lover forsakes her for me
I'll refuse him my hand and from Envy be freet
She went out in Morning attird plain and neat
Proud Marys gone Mad said the Child in the Street
She went out in Morning in plain neat attire
And came home in Evening bespatterd with mire
She trembled and wept sitting on the Bed side
She forgot it was Night & she trembled and cried
She forgot it was Night she forgot it was Morn
Her soft Memory imprinted with Faces of Scorn
With Faces of Scorn and with Eyes of disdain
Like foul Fiends inhabiting Marys mild Brain
She remembers no Face like the Human Divine
All Faces have Envy sweet Mary but thine
And thine is a Face of sweet Love in Despair
And thine is a Face of mild sorrow and care
And thine is a Face of wild terror and fear
That shall never be quiet till laid on its bier
poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Girl Like Me
A girl like me will make your world better
A girl like me will make you happy
A girl like me will make you smile everyday.
A girl like me will surround only you in my world
A girl like me will make you laugh nonstop
A girl like me will make time for you.
A girl like me will sit and listen to your words
A girl like me will not play games with you or your heart
A girl like me will always be true to you.
A girl like me will talk to you all night
A girl like me will be the one you can count on to be there for you
A girl like me will always be down for you no matter what.
A girl like me will be the one you can put your trust in
A girl like me will make you my whole world
A girl like me will give you everything I possibly can.
A girl like me needs a king
A girl like me could be your queen
A girl like me could be your everything.
A girl like me will let you have fun
A girl like me will lay with you and just smile
A girl like me will be the one you can just hang out with.
A girl like me will be the one to hold you at night
A girl like me will be the one you can fall asleep with
A girl like me will make you see what's on the brighter side.
A girl like me will keep you outta trouble
A girl like me will be there when no one else will
A girl like me will be the one you can open up to.
A girl like me could be your world that you have been looking for
A girl like me could be right in front of you
A girl like me could be the one you need to survive this life.
A girl like me is me
There is no other girl like me
Take me to be yours and get all of the above.
poem by Kimberly Santistevan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wallflower
Till midnight her needle she plied
To finish her pretty pink dress;
"Oh, bless you, my darling," she sighed;
"I hope you will be a success."
As she entered the Oddfellow's Hall
With the shy thrill of maiden romance
She felt like the belle of the Ball,
But . . . nobody asked her to dance.
Her programme was clutched in her hand;
Her smile was a tiny bit wan;
She listened, applauding the band,
Pretending she liked to look on.
Each girl had her favourite swain,
She watched them retreat and advance;
She waited and waited in vain,
but nobody asked her to dance.
Said Mother to me: "You'll agree
That any young girl who wears specs,
however so clever she be,
Is lacking in glamour of sex."
Said I: "There is one by the wall
Who doesn't seem having a chance.
She's ready to weep - Dash it all,
I'm going to ask her to dance."
I caught her just slipping away
So quietly no one would know;
But bravely she tried to seem gay,
Though her heart might be aching with woe.
Poor kid! She looked only sixteen,
And she gave me a half frightened glance
When I bowed as if she were a Queen,
And I begged: "May I please have this dance?"
She gave me her card: what a bluff!
She'd written "Sir G." and "Sir G."
So I cut out that Galahad stuff,
And I scribbled "M.E" and "M.E.";
She looked so forlorn and so frail,
Submitting like one in a trance,
So I acted the conquering male,
And guided her into the dance.
Then lo! to my joy and surprise
Her waltzing I found was divine;
And she took those damn specs from her eyes,
And behold they were jewels a-shine;
No lipstick nor rouge she had on,
But no powder or paint could enhance
On her cheeks the twin roses shone
As I had with her dance after dance.
Then all of a sudden I knew
As we waltzed and reversed round the hall
That all eyes were watching us two,
And that she was the Belle of the Ball.
The fellows came buzzing like bees,
With swagger and posture and prance,
But her programme was full of "M.E."s,
So she couldn't afford them a dance.
Said mother: "You've been a nice boy,
But had a good time I suppose.
You've filled that poor kid's heart with joy,
From now she'll have plenty of beaus." . . .
So fellows, please listen to me:
Don't look at a wallflower askance;
If a girl sitting lonely you see,
Just bow, smile and beg for a dance.
poem by Robert William Service
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Island Girl
Ray oh ah ha
Ray oh ah ha
Radio ah ha
You know
Ray oh ah ha
Radio ah
I'm gonna make her mine
Bom bom bom ba ba bom bom bom bom
I went to trinidad i didn't
Know just what i had 'til i
Found her
She wears a pretty smile
That compliments her shapely
Style and i found her
Island girl she's oh so pretty
Island girl i like her plenty
Island girl i'm gonna make her mine
Island girl she makes me happy
Island girl she kinda sassy
Island girl i'm gonna make her mine
Everybody's got an island fantasy
For me it's like a caribbean odyssey
All the people live and love there by the sea
Near the sparkling wather 'neath the coco-palm tree
Island girl she make me happy
Island girl she kinda sassy
Island girl won't you show me the way
She's fine so fine all mine
She's so good to me
And i know (i know) our love (or love) so free (so free)
That it was meant to be
Island girl she make me happy
Island girl she kinda sassy
Island girl won't you show me the way
She's a real beauty from the caribbean
Long dark hair flowin' in the breeze
She's the kinda beauty makes you come alive and
We can live together for eternity
Every now and then i get this silly grin
When i'm there in her company
She says i'm crazy that i'm also very lazy
I know she loves me
Island girl she make me happy
Island girl she kinda sassy
Island girl won't you show me the way
Island girl won't you show me the way
Island girl won't you show me the way
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lady Oriana
The Lady Oriana
Was dight all in the treasures of Guiana;
And on her Grace a thousand graces tended:
And thus sang they, fair Queen of peace and plenty;
The fairest queen of twenty:
Then with an olive wreath, for peace renowned,
Her virgin head they crowned:
Which ceremony ended,
Unto her Grace the thousand graces bended.
Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana,
Long live fair Oriana.
poem by John Wilbye
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A Pastoral
On a hill there grows a flower,
Fair befall the dainty sweet!
By that flower there is a bower
Where the heavenly Muses meet.
In the bower there is a chair,
Fringed all about with gold,
Where doth sit the fairest fair
That did ever eye behold.
It is Phyllis fair and bright,
She that is the shepherds' joy;
She that Venus did despite,
And did blind her little boy.
This is she, the wise, the rich,
That the world desires to see;
This is ipsa quae the which
There is none but only she.
Who would not this face admire?
Who would not this saint adore?
Who would not this sight desire,
Though he thought to see no more?
O fair eyes! yet let me see
One good look, and I am gone;
Look on me, for I am he,
Thy poor silly Corydon.
Thou that art the shepherds' queen,
Look upon thy silly swain;
By thy comfort have been seen
Dead men brought to life again.
Make him live that, dying long,
Never durst for comfort seek:
Thou shalt hear so sweet a song
Never shepherd sung the like.
poem by Nicholas Breton
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Cinderella Renewed
there was once a girl I knew
Her name was Cinderella
But Cinderella is way too long
We'll call her just Ella
Ella was a spoilt kid
Oh yes, she was
She rather barks than talks
not someone to cross
Then Gloomy air Spread everywhere
As her mother died with heart attack
All relatives cried at the news
Ella also did, but it was fake
His father married again
The lady had daughters of her own
Beautiful they were, oh yes
Names: Isabella and Sharon
Our Cinderella was very jealous
girls had taken her place, not one but two
Ella wanted to take revenge
From the girls, and their mother too!
But before she could do anything
The handsome prince called a ball
All the maidens were invited
It was to take place in the castle's hall
Excitement arose everywhere
Beautiful looked our Cinderella
But her stepsisters were their too
And their was no match for Isabella
The prince walked in the room
His eyes fell on Isabella
He asked her for a dance
And not our Cinderella
Soon the news spread through the kingdom
Prince and Isabella were to marry, no pretend
But then something happened
The prince chose Cinderella instead!
on the marriage day, bells rang
Ella and prince were coupled
But prince looked so forlorn and sad
As though he had just been crumpled
And as the carriage went, people wondered
What was it, that had dejected him
But we know the truth, that
Cinderella had a revolver to torture him!
poem by Myra Ahmad
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Girl At The Window
In the town lived a girl so fair
Her mother would not dare
To let her anywhere
She was a lonely girl
John and paul and ringo and george
Were playing lovely tunes
From the window of her room
By the light of the moon
Hey girl there at the window I wish you would come and see me
Ive got so much to tell you so much I want you to see
In the fields lived a lonely boy
Whod wander every night
Just to see her window light
Then he was happier
Then hed sit upon the ground
Just to listen to the sound
Of the music going round
And he would call to her
Hey girl there at the window I wish you would come and see me
Ive got so much to tell you so much I want you to see
One night her mother said I think its time for bed
The little girl crept down the stairs free as a bird
Hey girl there at the window I wish you would come and see me
Ive got so much to tell you so much I want you to see
She met the boy sitting on the ground
And they listened to the sound
Growing distant as they found
They were happy now
Hey girl there at the window I wish you would come and see me
Ive got so much to tell you so much I want you to see
(repeat)
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Glory
The glory of the beauty of the morning, -
The cuckoo crying over the untouched dew;
The blackbird that has found it, and the dove
That tempts me on to something sweeter than love;
White clouds ranged even and fair as new-mown hay;
The heat, the stir, the sublime vacancy
Of sky and meadow and forest and my own heart: -
The glory invites me, yet it leaves me scorning
All I can ever do, all I can be,
Beside the lovely of motion, shape, and hue,
The happiness I fancy fit to dwell
In beauty's presence. Shall I now this day
Begin to seek as far as heaven, as hell,
Wisdom or strength to match this beauty, start
And tread the pale dust pitted with small dark drops,
In hope to find whatever it is I seek,
Hearkening to short-lived happy-seeming things
That we know naught of, in the hazel copse?
Or must I be content with discontent
As larks and swallows are perhaps with wings?
And shall I ask at the day's end once more
What beauty is, and what I can have meant
By happiness? And shall I let all go,
Glad, weary, or both? Or shall I perhaps know
That I was happy oft and oft before,
Awhile forgetting how I am fast pent,
How dreary-swift, with naught to travel to,
Is Time? I cannot bite the day to the core.
poem by Edward Thomas
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The Blind Love
The blind love
Beauty and love
Together resided
Heavenly resorts above
And were guided
By the spirits divine
Incited them to always align
Gamboled they hand in hand
Place like a fairy land
Happy like victorious prince
Jealous were the happiness thence
Love, importune for beauty
Forgetting her divine duty
Hovered over like a moth
On the lightened luminous path
Never would they go astray
Promised under the broad day
One night they were making love
The beauty saw shining moon above
The moon light was so sweet
Beauties praised it and too repeat
Love was jealous of beauty infidel
Could not bear the moon rival
Come at beauty with a hard blow
Plucked out love’s eyes glow
Since that day the love is blind
And the beauty does not mind
Love and beauty part the way
Since that day are at bay
poem by Akram Saqib
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Psalm 45 part 2
Christ and his church.
The King of saints, how fair his face,
Adorned with majesty and grace!
He comes with blessings from above,
And wins the nations to his love.
At his right hand our eyes behold
The queen arrayed in purest gold;
The world admires her heav'nly dress,
Her robe of joy and righteousness.
He forms her beauties like his own;
He calls and seats her near his throne:
Fair stranger, let thine heart forget
The idols of thy native state.
So shall the King the more rejoice
In thee, the favorite of his choice;
Let him be loved, and yet adored,
For he's thy Maker and thy Lord.
O happy hour, when thou shalt rise
To his fair palace in the skies,
And all thy sons (a numerous train)
Each like a prince in glory reign!
Let endless honors crown his head;
Let every age his praises spread;
While we with cheerful songs approve
The condescensions of his love.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Ode On A Grecian Urn
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,--that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."
poem by John Keats
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My Garden Fair
Flowers are blooming in
my garden fair. Their
sweet perfume fills the
air. My Garden fair is
beautiful to see., with all
its glory surrounding me.
My garden fair is romantic
and bright, and so redeeming
in sunlight where song birds
nestle in the trees, and sing
with each flowing breeze.
My garden fair is a glorious
sight, that I rush to greet
at twilight my garden fair is
most supreme with such lovely
enchanting scenes.
poem by Dr. Janice Marie Murrell
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A Cradle Song
Sweet dreams, form a shade
O’er my lovely infant’s head;
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams.
Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown.
Sweet Sleep, Angel mild,
Hover o’er my happy child.
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight;
Sweet smiles, mother’s smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes.
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.
Sleep, sleep, happy child,
All creation slept and smil'd;
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o’er thee thy mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace.
Sweet babe, once like thee,
Thy Maker lay and wept for me,
Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee
Smiles on thee, on me, on all;
Who became an infant small.
Infant smiles are His own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
poem by William Blake from Songs of Innocence (1789)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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