En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Judgement Of Venus

When Kneller's works, of various grace,
Were to fair Venus shown,
The Goddess spied in every face
Some features of her own.

Just so, (and pointing with her hand)
So shone, says she, my eyes,
When from two goddesses I gain'd
An apple for a prize.

When in the glass and river too
My face I lately view'd,
Such was I, if the glass be true,
If true the crystal flood.

In colours of this glorious kind
Apelles painted me;
My hair, thus flowing with the wind
Sprung from my native sea.

Like this disorder'd, wild, forlorn,
Big with ten thousand fears,
Thee, my Adonis, did I mourn
E'en beautiful in tears.

But viewing Myra placed apart,
I fear, says she, I fear,
Appelles, that Sir Godfrey's art
Has far surpass'd thine here:

Or I, a goddess of the skies,
By Mary am undone,
And must resign to her the prize,
The apple, which I won.

But soon as she had Myra seen,
Majestically fair,
The sparkling eye, the look serene,
The gay and easy air.

With fiery emulation fill'd
The wondering goddess cried,
Apelles must to Kneller yield,
Or Venus must to Hyde.

poem by Matthew Prior
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Sonnet XXXIII: Venus Victrix

Could Juno's self more sovereign presence wear
Than thou, 'mid other ladies throned in grace?—
Or Pallas, when thou bend'st with soul-stilled face
O'er poet's page gold-shadowed in thy hair?
Dost thou than Venus seem less heavenly fair
When o'er the sea of love's tumultuous trance
Hovers thy smile, and mingles with thy glance
That sweet voice like the last wave murmuring there?
Before such triune loveliness divine
Awestruck I ask, which goddess here most claims
The prize that, howsoe'er adjudged, is thine?
Then Love breathes low the sweetest of thy names;
And Venus Victrix to my heart doth bring
Herself, the Helen of her guerdoning.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Maghe

The Roman god Janus,
The Roman goddess Februa,
The Roman god of war (Mars) !
The Greek goddess of love (Aphrodite) ,
The Roman goddess of growth (Maia) ,
And Juno, the goddess of women, marriages and childbirth! !
Learn from them to know the wife of Jupiter as well;
For, we are all being saurrounded by the works of the gods and the goddesses!

The Germanic languages,
I am Maghe with the works of the secret codes of life in the land of the living;
But, very quick and eloquent is the muse of my love!
And like the acts of the god Woden in the alnd of many rivers.

The god Thunor (Thor) and the goddess Frigg,
With Old Norse like Venus the goddess of love!
But, try to learn from the old facts to push ahead with the truth always;
For, we are blindfolded to the secrets of this world.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Protogenes And Apelles

When poets wrote and painters drew
As Nature pointed out the view,
Ere Gothic forms were known in Greece
To spoil the well-proportion'd piece;
And in our verse ere Monkish rhymes
Had jangled their fantastic chimes;
Ere on the flowery lands of Rhodes
Those knights had fix'd their dull abodes,
Who knew not much to paint or write,
Nor cared to pray, nor dared to fight;
Protogenes, historians note,
Lived there, a burgess, scot and lot;
And as old Pliny's writings show
Apelles did the same at Co.
Agreed these points of time and place,
Proceed we in the present case.

Piqued by Protogenes's fame,
From Co to Rhodes Apelles came
To see a rival and a friend,
Prepared to censure or commend;
Here to absolve, and there object,
As art with candour might direct.
He sails, he lands, he comes, he rings;
His servants follow with the things:
Appears the governante of the house,
For such in Greece were much in use;
If young or handsome, yea or no,
Concerns not me or thee to know.

Does Squire Protogenes live here?
Yes Sir, says he, with gracious air,
And curtesy low, but just call'd out
By lords peculiarly devout,
Who came on purpose, Sir, to borrow
Our Venus for the feast to-morrow
To grace the church: 'tis Venus day;
I hope Sir you intend to stay
To see our Venus: 'tis the piece
The most renown'd throughout all Greece
So like th' original they say;
But I have no great skill that way.
But, Sir, at six ('tis now past three)
Dromo must make my master's tea:
At six, Sir, if you please to come,
You'll find my master, Sir, at home.

Tea, says a critic, big with laughter,
Was found some twenty years ages after.
Authors, before they write, should read,
'Tis very true; but we'll proceed.
And, Sir, at present would you please
To leave your name - Fair maiden, yes.
Reach me that board. No sooner spoke
But done. With one judicious stroke
On the plain ground Appelles drew
A circle regularly true.
And will you please, Sweet-heart, said he,
To show your master this from me?
By it he presently will know
How painters write their names at Co.

He gave the pannel to the maid.
Smiling and curtesying, Sir, she said,
I shall not fail to tell my master:
And, Sir, for fear of all disaster
I'll keep it my own self : Safe bind,
Says the old proverb and safe find.
So, Sir, as sure as a key or lock -
Your servant, Sir, - at six o'clock.

Again at six Apelles came,
Found the same prating civil dame.
Sir, that my master has been here
Will by the board itself appear:
If from the perfect line be found
He has presumed to swell the round,
Or colours on the draught to lay,
'Tis thus, (he order'd me to say)
Thus write the painters of this isle;
Let those of Co remark the style.

She said; and to his hand restored
The rival pledge, the missive board.
Upon the happy line were laid
Such obvious light and easy shade,
That Paris' apple stood confest,
Or Leda's egg, or Cloe's breast.

Apelles view'd the finish'd piece;
And live, said he, the arts of Greece!
Howe'er Protogenes and I
May in our rival talents vie;
Howe'er our works may have exprest
Who truest drew or colour'd best,
When he beheld my flowing line
He found at least I could design;
And from his artful round I grant
That he with perfect skill can paint.

The dullest genius cannot fail
To find the moral of my tale;
That the distinguish'd part of men,
With compass, pencil, sword, or pen,
Should in life's visit leave their name
In characters which may proclaim
That they with ardour strove to raise
At once their arts and country's praise;
And in their working took great care
That all was full, and round, and fair.

poem by Matthew Prior
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Goddess Revival

I wake up in the garden
A wind across my hair
The bloom of jasmine and the
Night sky satin
Softly she is there
The trail of light she leaves
Like sand in an hourglass
I listen to her voice at last
I am your past
Goddess revival
Ill be your path
One of her disciples
Please take my task
Goddess revival...
It was dark and so quiet
Venus led psyche to the rosey dawn
Shes only beginning to fight like shes winning
Through seasons, years, and eras, she carries on
I walk the way she walks
Leaving trails of golden light
I listen to her voice tonight
I am your past
Goddess revival
Ill be your friend
One of her disciples
Please take my hand
Godess revival...
Now I can see the light
Youve got to learn from me
Youve got a lot to learn
Goddess...
I am your past
Goddess revival
Ill be your friend
One of her disciples
Please take my hand
Goddess revival...
I am goddess revival
One of her disciples
Take me to the land
Ill show you what I am

song performed by by Wilsons
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Venus in the Garden

'Twas at early morning,
The dawn was blushing in her purple bed,
When in a sweet, embowered garden
She, the fairest of the goddesses,
The lovely Venus,
Roamed amongst the roses white and red.
She sought for flowers
To make a garland
For her golden head.

Snow-white roses, blood-red roses,
In that sweet garden close,
Offered incense to the goddess:
Both the white and the crimson rose.

White roses, red roses, blossoming:
But the fair Venus knew
The crimson roses had gained their hue
From the hearts that for love had bled;
And the goddess made a garland
Gathered from the roses red.

poem by James Weldon Johnson
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Pallas And Venus. An Epigram

The Trojan swain had judged the great dispute,
And beauty's power obtain'd the golden fruit,
When Venus, loose in all her naked charms,
Met Jove's great daughter clad in shining arms,
The wanton goddess view'd the warlike maid
From head to foot, and tauntingly she said;

Yield sister; rival, yield: naked, you see,
I vanquish: guess how potent I should be,
If to the field I came in armour dress'd,
Dreadful like thine my shield, and terrible my crest!

The warrior goddess with disdain replied,
Thy folly, child, is equal to thy pride:
Let a brave enemy for once advise,
And Venus (if 'tis possible) be wise:
Thou to be strong must put off every dress;
Thy only armour is thy nakedness;
And more than once (or thou art much belied)
By Mars himself that armour has been tried.

poem by Matthew Prior
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A Sonnet

WEEPING, murmuring, complaining,
Lost to every gay delight;
MYRA, too sincere for feigning,
Fears th' approaching bridal night.

Yet, why impair thy bright perfection?
Or dim thy beauty with a tear?
Had MYRA followed my direction,
She long had wanted cause of fear.

poem by Oliver Goldsmith
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Goddess Durga - Prayer

Goddess Durga! O My mother!
you, the invincible power!
you are strength of deities
you destroy all the fear.

Goddess Durga! O My mother!
you, the mother of universe,
It's you who takes care of it
and removes glooms of hearts.

Goddess Durga! O My mother!
universe is just your fraction,
You are the absolute of
creation, operation, destruction.

Goddess Durga! O My mother!
without you life is no meaning,
Whoever remembers you
you arrive for their wellbeing.

Goddess Durga! O My mother!
we're thankful what you given;
Keep away troubles and pains,
let your kindness be remain.

Goddess Durga! O My mother!
be kind to accept our prayers,
Let always be your compassion
for blissful living of your creatures.

Goddess Durga! O My mother!
let your world always be radiant,
Stay to protect everyone
everywhere and every moment.

poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Again Endorsing the Lady

Horace: Book II, Elegy 2

"Liber eram et vacuo meditabar vivere lecto--"

I was free. I thought that I had entered
Love's Antarctic Zone.
"A truce to sentiment," I said. "My nights
shall be my own."
But Love had double-crossed me. How can
Beauty be so fair?
The grace of her, the face of her--and oh,
her yellow hair!

And oh, the wondrous walk of her! So doth
a goddess glide.
Jove's sister--ay, or Pallas--hath no statelier
a stride.
Fair as Iscomache herself, the Lapithanian
maid;
Or Brimo where at Mercury's side her virgin
form she laid.

Surrender now, ye goddesses whom erst the
shepherd spied!
Upon the heights of Ida lay your vestitures
aside!
And though she reach the countless years of
the Cumæan Sibyl,
May never, never Age at those delightful
features nibble!

poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Why I Love You

I told you that
I love you.
Then, you
Asked me why.

Good question!
For I hadn't
Really thought of the reason
Until now, so

You'll have to excuse me
For a while as
I go back to
When it all started...

Looking back,
I realize that
My eyes weren't
The ones that
Saw you that day,
But my heart.

It saw not just a
Beautiful lady;
It saw not just a
Lovely Garden of Eden...
But a real goddess-
Venus in the flesh.

Ignoring heaven's protests,
I founded my
Own religion:

You,

Someone I could worship-
And fall in love with,
Before Hades does
Fall in love with
Me.

Got it!
Now it's clear
Why I love you:

Because...

You are my beautiful Venus,
The one I worship and love and more.

How my heart beats out,
'It's-true, it's-true, it's-true, ...'!

poem by Eon Ezkiel
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Saving grace for M'ladyAnn Beard

Moonlight on the water glowing gently. As the tide out flowing
leaves silver traces on the sand. I think that now I understand,
the feeling of serenity. Which quickly flooded over me.
From being lonely and depressed I felt as though I had been blessed.
Bathed in the Goddess’ radiance I was given a second chance.
To be who I was meant to be, that peaceful night beside the sea.
I can recall it vividly. It was a peak experience
I still hold her in reverence.Although I have no evidence.
to prove to you my words are true do not feel that I need to.
Unless touched by the Goddess’ hand you simply would not understand
So I began my life anew because the Goddess bid me to.
The goddess cares for her children, she gave me confidence again.
I know that I can make the grade I face the future unafraid.

19-Dec-08

http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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To His Excellency The Lord Carteret.

The Picture strikes--'tis drawn with won d'rous Art;
Well has the Poet play'd the Painter's Part.
Tho' 'tis your Glory, yet, my Lord, I own,
I grieve the Features fit yourself alone.
But know, tho' All agree the Picture's yours,
'Tis Steadiness alone your Claim secures.
With Pleasure now your Image you furvey;
But should you from the Rules of Virtue stray,
Should e'er degrading Vice deform your Frame,
You'd start, like Io from the crystal Stream.

When Kneller has display'd, with matchless Grace,
The fleeting Glories of Clarinda's Face;
She sighs, to think how Time will soon devour
The lovely Bloom, which gives her now such Pow'r:
But yours, a Likeness of a nobler Kind,
Displays the deathless Beauties of the Mind:
Be it your Glory to surpass the Paint,
And make the finish'd Picture look too faint.

Why is he hid, who, with such matchloss Art,
Calls forth the Graces that adorn your Heart?
True Poets in their deathless Lays should live,
And share that Immortality they give.

poem by Mary Barber
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Artemis

Goddess of the Moon
For the Wolves to Howl.
Goddess of the Woods,
For the Creatures to Prowl.

Goddess of the Animals,
For the Earth to Love.
Goddess of the Hunt,
For Stalking the Dove.

Goddess of Child Birth,
For New Life to Come.

poem by Savannah VokinsNoyes
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Sonnet XXXIV: Venus! To Thee

Venus! to thee, the Lesbian Muse shall sing,
The song, which Myttellenian youths admir'd,
when Echo, am'rous of the strain inspir'd,
Bade the wild rocks with madd'ning plaudits ring!
Attend my pray'r! O! Queen of rapture! bring
To these fond arms, he, whom my soul has fir'd;
From these fond arms remov'd; yet, still desir'd,
Though love, exulting, spreads his varying wing!
Oh! source of ev'ry joy! of ev'ry care
Blest Venus! Goddess of the zone divine!
To Phaon's bosom, Phaon's victim bear;
So shall her warmest, tend'rest vows be thine!
For Venus, Sappho shall a wreath prepare,
And Love be crown'd, immortal as the Nine!

poem by Mary Darby Robinson
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There, where I saw her lovely beauty painted

There, where I saw her lovely beauty painted,
Where, Venus-like, my sacred goddess shineth,
There, with *precellent object mine eyes fainted,
That fair, but fatal star, my dole divineth.
As soon as morning in her light appeareth,
Her sweet salute, my mind o’erclouded, cleareth;
When night again the day’s delight bereaveth,
My heart’s true sacrifice she quick receiveth:
But night and day she craftily forsakes me,
To tedious day, to loathsome night betakes me.

poem by John Wilbye
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Seeing The Duke Of Ormond's Picture, At Sir Godfrey Kneller's

Out from the injured canvas, Kneller, strike
These lines too faint; the picture is not like.
Exalt thy thought, and try thy toil again:
Dreadful in arms, on Landen's glorious plain
Place Ormond's Duke: impendent in the air
Let his keen sabre, comet-like, appear,
Where'er it points denouncing death: below
Draw routed squadrons, and the numerous foe
Falling beneath, or flying from his blow;
Till weak with wounds, and cover'd o'er with blood,
Which from the patriot's breast in torrents flow'd,
He faints: he steed no longer hears the rein,
But stumbles o'er the heap his hand had slain.
And now exhausted, bleeding, pale he lies,
Lovely, sad object! in his half-closed eyes
Stern Vengeance yet and hostile Terror stand:
His front yet threatens, and his frowns command.
The Gallic chiefs their troops around him call,
Fear to approach him, though they see him fall.

O Kneller! could thy shades and lights express
The perfect hero in that glorious dress,
Ages to come might Ormond's picture know,
And palms for thee beneath his laurels grow;
In spite of time thy work might ever thine,
Nor Homer's colours last so long as thine.

poem by Matthew Prior
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"Venus by Adonis' Side"

Venus by Adonis' side
Crying kiss'd, and kissing cried,
Wrung her hands and tore her hair
For Adonis dying there.

Stay (quoth she) O stay and live!
Nature surely doth not give
To the earth her sweetest flowers
To be seen but some few hours.

On his face, still as he bled
For each drop a tear she shed,
Which she kiss'd or wip'd away,
Else had drown'd him where he lay.

Fair Proserpina (quoth she)
Shall not have thee yet from me;
Nor my soul to fly begin
While my lips can keep it in.

Here she clos'd again. And some
Say Apollo would have come
To have cur'd his wounded limb,
But that she had smothered him.

poem by William Browne
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The Judgment Of Paris

Where waving Pines the brows of Ida shade,
The swain young Paris half supinely laid,
Saw the loose Flocks thro' shrubs unnumber'd rove
And Piping call'd them to the gladded grove.
'Twas there he met the Message of the skies,
That he the Judge of Beauty deal the prize.

The Message known, one Love with anxious mind,
To make his Mother guard the time assign'd,
Drew forth her proud white Swans, and trac'd the pair
That wheel her Chariot in the purple air:
A golden Bow behind his shoulder bends,
A golden Quiver at his side depends,
Pointing to these he nods, with fearless State,
And bids her safely meet the grand Debate.
Another Love proceeds with anxious care
To make his Iv'ry sleek the shining hair,
Moves the loose Curls and bids the Forehead shew
In full Expansion all its native snow.
A third enclasps the many colour'd Cest
And rul'd by Fancy sets the silver Vest,
When to her Sons with intermingl'd sighs
The Goddess of the rosy lips applies.

'Tis now my darling boys a time to shew
The love you feel, the filial aids you owe:
Yet would we think that any dar'd to strive
For Charms, when Venus and her Loves alive?
Or should the prize of beauty be deni'd,
Has Beauty's Empress ought to boast beside?
And ting'd with Poison, pleasing while it harms,
My Darts I trusted to your infant arms;
If, when your hands have arch'd the golden Bow,
The World's great Ruler bending owns the blow,
Let no contending Form invade my due,
Tall Juno's Mein, nor Pallas Eyes of blew.
But grac'd with Triumph, to the Paphian shore,
Your Venus bears the Palms of Conquest o'er,
And joyful see my hundred Altars there
With costly Gums perfume the wanton air.

While thus the Cupids hear the Cyprian Dame,
The groves resounded where a Goddess came.
The warlike Pallas march'd with mighty stride,
Her Shield forgot, her Helmet laid aside.
Her Hair unbound, in curls and order flow'd,
And Peace, or something like, her Visage shew'd;
So with her eyes serene and hopeful haste,
The long stretch'd Allys of the Wood she trac'd.
But where the Woods a second Entrance found,
With Scepter'd Pomp, and Golden Glory crown'd
The stately Juno stalk'd, to reach the Seat,
And hear the Sentence in the last Debate,
And long, severely long resent the Grove;
In this, what boots it, she's the wife of Jove.

Arm'd with a Grace, at length, secure to win,
The lovely Venus smiling enters in;
All sweet and shining near the Youth she drew,
Her rosy Neck ambrosial odours threw;
The sacred Scents diffus'd among the leaves,
Ran down the Woods and fill'd their hoary Caves;
The Charms, so am'rous all, and each so great,
The conquer'd Judge no longer keeps his Seat;
Oppress'd with Light, he drops his weary'd eyes
And fears he should be thought to doubt the Prize.

poem by Thomas Parnell
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Fire Goddess.

I am the fire goddess.
The one you tried to kill,
But did not succeed.

I am the fire goddess.
The one that never lingers,
Just goes ahead and riots.

I am the fire goddess.
The one that is thought to be evil,
But you misjudge my greatness.

I am the fire goddess.
The one with endless power.
The one with immense power.

I am the fire goddess.
The one that ruined his life.

I am the fire goddess.
The one that is ruining her life.

I am the fire goddess.
The one that will ruin their lives.

poem by Normal Girl Normal World
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Cassandra

I

REND, rend thine hair, Cassandra: he will go.
Yea, rend thy garments, wring thine hands, and cry
From Troy still towered to the unreddened sky.
See, all but she that bore thee mock thy woe:—
He most whom that fair woman arms, with show
Of wrath on her bent brows; for in this place
This hour thou bad'st all men in Helen's face
The ravished ravishing prize of Death to know.
What eyes, what ears hath sweet Andromache,
Save for her Hector's form and step; as tear
On tear make salt the warm last kiss he gave?
He goes. Cassandra's words beat heavily
Like crows above his crest, and at his ear
Ring hollow in the shield that shall not save.

II

“O HECTOR, gone, gone, gone! O Hector, thee
Two chariots wait, in Troy long bless'd and curs'd;
And Grecian spear and Phrygian sand athirst
Crave from thy veins the blood of victory.
Lo! long upon our hearth the brand had we,
Lit for the roof-tree's ruin: and to-day
The ground-stone quits the wall,—the wind hath way,—
And higher and higher the wings of fire are free.
“O Paris, Paris! O thou burning brand,
Thou beacon of the sea whence Venus rose,
Lighting thy race to shipwreck! Even that hand
Wherewith she took thine apple let her close
Within thy curls at last, and while Troy glows
Lift thee her trophy to the sea and land.”

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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