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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If I Ever Marry, I'll Marry A Maid
If ever I marry, I'll marry a maid;
To marry a widow, I am sore afraid:
For maids they are simple, and never will grutch,
But widows full oft, as they say, know too much.
A maid is so sweet, and so gentle of kind,
That a maid is the wife I will choose to my mind
A widow is froward, and never will yield;
Or if such there be, you will meet them but seeld.
A maid ne'er complaineth, do what so you will;
But what you mean well, a widow takes ill:
A widow will make you a drudge and a slave,
And, cost ne'er so much, she will ever go brave.
A maid is so modest, she seemeth a rose
When it first beginneth the bud to unclose;
But a widow full-blowen full often deceives,
And the next wind that bloweth shakes down all her leaves.
The widows be lovely, I never gainsay,
But too well all their beauty they know to display;
But a maid hath so great hidden beauty in store,
She can spare to a widow, yet never be poor.
Then, if ever I marry, give me a fresh maid,
If to marry with any I be not afraid;
But to marry with any, it asketh much care;
And some bachelors hold they are best as they are.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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A Man Needs A Maid
My life is changing in so many ways
I dont know who to trust anymore
Theres a shadow running thru my days
Like a beggar going from door to door.
I was thinking that maybe Id get a maid
Find a place nearby for her to stay.
Just someone to keep my house clean,
Fix my meals and go away.
A maid. a man needs a maid.
A maid.
Its hard to make that change
When life and love turns strange.
And old.
To give a love, you gotta live a love.
To live a love, you gotta be part of
When will I see you again?
A while ago somewhere I dont know when
I was watching a movie with a friend.
I fell in love with the actress.
She was playing a part that I could understand.
A maid. a man needs a maid.
A maid.
When will I see you again?
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lovely Rita
Lovely rita meter maid.
Lovely rita meter maid.
Lovely rita meter maid.
Nothing can come between us,
When it gets dark i tow your heart away.
Standing by a parking meter,
When i caught a glimpse of rita,
Filling in a ticket in her little white book.
In a cap she looked much older,
And the bag across her shoulder
Made her look a little like a military man.
Lovely rita meter maid,
May i inquire discreetly,
When are you free,
To take some tea with me.
Took her out and tried to win her,
Had a laugh and over dinner,
Told her i would really like to see her again,
Got the bill and rita paid it,
Took her home i nearly made it,
Sitting on the sofa with a sister or two.
Oh, lovely rita meter maid,
Where would i be without you,
Give us a wink and make me think of you.
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Maid of the Sweet Brown Knowe
COME all ye lads and lassies and listen to me a while,
And I’ll sing for you a verse or two will cause you all to smile;
It’s all about a young man, and I’m going to tell you now,
How he lately came a-courting of the Maid of the Sweet Brown Knowe.
Said he, “My pretty fair maid, will you come along with me,
We’ll both go off together, and married we will be;
We’ll join our hands in wedlock bands, I’m speaking to you now,
And I’ll do my best endeavour for the Maid of the Sweet Brown Knowe.”
This fair and fickle young thing, she knew not what to say,
Her eyes did shine like silver bright and merrily did play;
She said, “Young man, your love subdue, for I am not ready now,
And I’ll spend another season at the foot of the Sweet Brown Knowe.
Said he, “My pretty fair maid, how can you say so,
Look down in yonder valley where my crops do gently grow,
Look down in yonder valley where my horses and my plough
Are at their daily labour for the Maid of the Sweet Brown Knowe.”
“If they’re at their daily labour, kind sir, it’s not for me,
For I’ve heard of your behaviour, I have, indeed,” she said;
“There is an Inn where you call in, I have heard the people say,
Where you rap and call and pay for all, and go home at the break of day.”
“If I rap and call and pay for all, the money is all my own,
And I’ll never spend your fortune, for I hear you have got none.
You thought you had my poor heart broke in talking with me now,
But I’ll leave you where I found you, at the foot of the Sweet Brown Knowe.”
poem by Anonymous English
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He and She
[HE.] I know a youth who loves a little maid -
(Hey, but his face is a sight for to see!)
Silent is he, for he's modest and afraid -
(Hey, but he's timid as a youth can be!)
[SHE.] I know a maid who loves a gallant youth -
(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!)
SHE cannot tell him all the sad, sad truth -
(Hey, but I think that little maid will die!)
[BOTH.] Now tell me pray, and tell me true,
What in the world should the poor soul do?
[HE.] He cannot eat and he cannot sleep -
(Hey, but his face is a sight for to see!)
Daily he goes for to wail - for to weep -
(Hey, but he's wretched as a youth can be!)
[SHE.] She's very thin and she's very pale -
(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!)
Daily she goes for to weep - for to wail -
(Hey, but I think that little maid will die!)
[BOTH.] Now tell me pray, and tell me true,
What in the world should the poor soul do?
[SHE.] If I were the youth I should offer her my name -
(Hey, but her face is a sight for to see!)
[HE.] If I were the maid I should fan his honest flame -
(Hey, but he's bashful as a youth can be!)
[SHE.] If I were the youth I should speak to her to-day -
(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!)
[HE.] If I were the maid I should meet the lad half way -
(For I really do believe that timid youth will die!)
[BOTH.] I thank you much for your counsel true;
I've learnt what that poor soul ought to do!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Ballad
A faithless shepherd courted me,
He stole away my liberty.
When my poor heart was strange to men,
He came and smiled and stole it then.
When my apron would hang low,
Me he sought through frost and snow.
When it puckered up with shame,
And I sought him, he never came.
When summer brought no fears to fright,
He came to guard me every night.
When winter nights did darkly prove,
None came to guard me or to love.
I wish, I wish, but all in vain,
I wish I was a maid again.
A maid again I cannot be,
O when will green grass cover me?
poem by John Clare
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Came a pretty maid
Came a pretty maid
By the moon's pure light . . .
Loved me well, she said,
Eyes with tears all bright,
A pretty maid.
But too late she strayed,
Moonlight pure was there . . .
She was nought but shade,
Hiding the more fair,
The heav'nly maid.
poem by George Eliot
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Would You Know?
Would you know the kind of maid
Sets my heart a flame-a?
Eyes must be downcast and staid,
Cheeks must flush for shame-a!
She may neither dance nor sing,
But, demure in everything,
Hang her head in modest way
With pouting lips that seem to say,
"Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,
Though I die of shame-a!"
Please you, that's the kind of maid
Sets my heart a flame-a!
When a maid is bold and gay
With a tongue goes clang-a,
Flaunting it in brave array,
Maiden may go hang-a!
Sunflower gay and hollyhock
Never shall my garden stock;
Mine the blushing rose of May,
With pouting lips that seem to say
"Oh, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,
Though I die for shame-a!"
Please you, that's the kind of maid
Sets my heart a flame-a!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Joan of Arc
This word had Merlin said from of old:—
That out of the Oak Tree Shade
In the day of France's direst dule,
God's hand should send a Maid.
And where Domremy, by Burgundy,
Sits crowned with its oakenshaw,
Even there Joan d'Arc, the Maid of God's Ark,
The light of the day first saw.
Where spirits go, what man may know?
Yet this may of man be said:—
That, when Time is o'er and all hath sufficed,
Shall the world's chief Christ-fire rise to Christ
From the ashes of Joan the Maid.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Solatium
Comes the broken flower -
Comes the cheated maid -
Though the tempest lower,
Rain and cloud will fade!
Take, O maid, these posies:
Though thy beauty rare
Shame the blushing roses,
They are passing fair!
Wear the flowers till they fade;
Happy be thy life, O maid!
O'er the season vernal,
Time may cast a shade;
Sunshine, if eternal,
Makes the roses fade:
Time may do his duty;
Let the thief alone -
Winter hath a beauty
That is all his own.
Fairest days are sun and shade:
Happy be thy life, O maid!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Messages
What shall I your true-love tell,
Earth-forsaking maid?
What shall I your true-love tell,
When life's spectre's laid?
'Tell him that, our side the grave,
Maid may not conceive
Life should be so sad to have,
That's so sad to leave!'
What shall I your true-love tell,
When I come to him?
What shall I your true-love tell--
Eyes growing dim!
'Tell him this, when you shall part
From a maiden pined;
That I see him with my heart,
Now my eyes are blind.'
What shall I your true-love tell?
Speaking-while is scant.
What shall I your true-love tell,
Death's white postulant?
'Tell him--love, with speech at strife,
For last utterance saith:
I, who loved with all my life,
Love with all my death.'
poem by Francis Thompson
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A Poor Young Shepherd
Of a kiss I’m afraid
as of bees in the skies,
I suffer, I wake,
and no rest may find, take: -
of a kiss I’m afraid!
Yet I love Kate, my maid,
and her beautiful eyes,
with her delicate air
white and slender, so fair:
how I love Kate, my maid!
‘Tis St. Valentine’s Day -
I dare not, though I try
my promise to make: -
what a dreadful mistake
is St. Valentine’s Day.
She is sworn, the vow’s made, -
what a joy Life supplies!
Act the lover, I swear
is so difficult where
love to loved won court’s paid.
Of a kiss I’m afraid
as of bees in the skies,
I suffer, I wake,
and no rest may find, take: -
of a kiss I’m afraid!
poem by Paul Verlaine, translated by Jonathan Robin
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To a Little Maid - by a Politician
Come with me, little maid,
Nay, shrink not, thus afraid -
I'll harm thee not!
Fly not, my love, from me -
I have a home for thee -
A fairy grot,
Where mortal eye
Can rarely pry,
There shall thy dwelling be!
List to me, while I tell
The pleasures of that cell,
Oh, little maid!
What though its couch be rude,
Homely the only food
Within its shade?
No thought of care
Can enter there,
No vulgar swain intrude!
Come with me, little maid,
Come to the rocky shade
I love to sing;
Live with us, maiden rare -
Come, for we "want" thee there,
Thou elfin thing,
To work thy spell,
In some cool cell
In stately Pentonville!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Death Of Cinderella
Im wise and ambitious,
And angry and free,
And smart and available,
And sexy...
Im soft and appealing,
And wearing pajamas,
And twisted and willing,
And crazy...
And this is the story of the death of cinderella
Shed grow to be a maid if she couldnt find a fella
Who can use her
And its all you could do not to throw her on the floor.
And thought-provoking,
And opinionated
Cultured and funny,
And experienced...
Fearless and tender,
And sweetly innocent,
Uninhibited,
Likes a good debate.
And this is the story of the death of cinderella
Shed grow to be a maid if she couldnt find a fella
Who can use her
And its all you could do not to tie her to the bed.
I could fall in love a million times before I die,
You could draw me a bubble bath,
We could walk into the sunset...
And this is the story of the death of cinderella
Shed grow to be a maid if she couldnt find a fella
Who can use her
And its all you could do not to throw her on the floor
And this is the story of the death of cinderella
Im gonna grow to be a maid and Ill never find a fella
Who can use me
And thats all you can do not to kick me in the ass.
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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What shall I your true love tell?
*
What shall I your true love tell,
Earth forsaking maid?
What shall I your true love tell
When life's spectre's laid?
"Tell him that, our side the grave,
Maid may not believe
Life should be so sad to have,
That's so sad to leave!"
What shall I your true love tell
When I come to him?
What shall I your true love tell
Eyes growing dim?
"Tell him this, when you shall part
From a maiden pined;
That I see him with my heart,
Now my eyes are blind."
What shall I your true love tell
Speaking while is scant?
What shall I your true love tell
Death's white postulant?
"Tell him love, with speech at strife,
For last utterance saith:
`I who loved with all my life,
Loved with all my death.'"
*
poem by Francis Thompson
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The world never knows, and cannot for the life of it imagine, what this man sees in that maid and that maid in this man. The world cannot think why they fell in love with each other. But they have their reason, their beautiful secret, that never gets told to more than one person; and what they see in each other is what they show to each other; and it is the truth. Only they kept it hidden in their hearts until the time came.
quote by Eleanor Farjeon
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Why?
Behold, the grave of a wicked man,
And near it, a stern spirit.
There came a drooping maid with violets,
But the spirit grasped her arm.
'No flowers for him,' he said.
The maid wept:
'Ah, I loved him.'
But the spirit, grim and frowning:
'No flowers for him.'
Now, this is it -
If the spirit was just,
Why did the maid weep?
poem by Stephen Crane
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Tis Sunrise—Little Maid—Hast Thou
908
'Tis Sunrise—Little Maid—Hast Thou
No Station in the Day?
'Twas not thy wont, to hinder so—
Retrieve thine industry—
'Tis Noon—My little Maid—
Alas—and art thou sleeping yet?
The Lily—waiting to be Wed—
The Bee—Hast thou forgot?
My little Maid—'Tis Night—Alas
That Night should be to thee
Instead of Morning—Had'st thou broached
Thy little Plan to Die—
Dissuade thee, if I could not, Sweet,
I might have aided—thee—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Seasons of My Love
I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunrise in her hair
There lived no other in the world could in my heart compare
Her eyes were stars of midnight bliss, her laugh a meadow breeze
I would have done all that she asked, so quick was I to please
I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair
Embraced in velvet lullabies, such sweetness did we share
We were all we ever had but we were wild and free
And in the lands you would not find a soul as lark as me
I loved a maid as white as winter, with snowflakes in her hair
The seasons of our love had both a beauty and despair
Two hearts that beat as one were we, our song was meant to be
And in the skies you would not find a dove as spry as she
I loved a maid as bright as spring, with blossoms in her hair
I loved her fierce, I loved her true, we were doomed; we did not care
The hands of time would take from me, even she was not to spare
In the whispers of my dreams, I still see my maiden fair
poem by Leonard Snow
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