The Poet Laberius
PRESERVED BY MACROBIUS.
WHAT! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage,
And save from infamy my sinking age!
Scarce half alive, oppress'd with many a year,
What in the name of dotage drives me here?
A time there was, when glory was my guide,
Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside;
Unaw'd by pow'r, and unappall'd by fear,
With honest thrift I held my honour dear;
But this vile hour disperses all my store,
And all my hoard of honour is no more.
For ah! too partial to my life's decline,
Caesar persuades, submission must be mine;
Him I obey, whom heaven itself obeys,
Hopeless of pleasing, yet inclin'd to please.
Here then at once, I welcome every shame,
And cancel at threescore a life of fame;
No more my titles shall my children tell,
The old buffoon will fit my name as well;
This day beyond its term my fate extends,
For life is ended when our honour ends.
poem by Oliver Goldsmith
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Part Of A Prologue Written And Spoken By The POet Laberius A Roman Knight, Whom Caesar Forced Upon The Stage
PRESERVED BY MACROBIUS.
WHAT! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage,
And save from infamy my sinking age!
Scarce half alive, oppress'd with many a year,
What in the name of dotage drives me here?
A time there was, when glory was my guide,
Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside;
Unaw'd by pow'r, and unappall'd by fear,
With honest thrift I held my honour dear;
But this vile hour disperses all my store,
And all my hoard of honour is no more.
For ah! too partial to my life's decline,
Caesar persuades, submission must be mine;
Him I obey, whom heaven itself obeys,
Hopeless of pleasing, yet inclin'd to please.
Here then at once, I welcome every shame,
And cancel at threescore a life of fame;
No more my titles shall my children tell,
The old buffoon will fit my name as well;
This day beyond its term my fate extends,
For life is ended when our honour ends.
poem by Oliver Goldsmith
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Honour Life
honour life
honour people loved
while they are here
rather than mourn
when they are gone
when it is too late
show a little sincere appreciation
for family friends life loved
saving you from empty alienation
appreciate gift love time
subtle small gifts divine
memories shine through time
to love appreciate fully now
seems a far better rational response
than to regret at fatal final hour
honour life
honour life
while it is here
poem by Terence George Craddock
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To Love, To Honour And Obey
To love, to honour and obey
Her three vows on her wedding day
She loved and honoured for awhile
But she never once did obey.
Her husband quite a pleasant man
With him she always had her way
And he adhered to his marriage vows
To love, to honour and obey.
He quickly aged before his time
And poor health gave way to decay
And he died at forty nine years old
And a cheap headstone tell where he lay.
And she made sure she held her looks
And with tints and dyes she hid her gray
And she paid huge sum for new face lift
And she looked like one in her prime day.
In time she met with younger man
And though with him she did not have her way
They married and she kept her vows
To love, to honour and obey.
To love, to honour and obey
Her three vows on her wedding day
She loved and honoured for awhile
But she never once did obey.
poem by Francis Duggan
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What Shall I Do For the Land that Bred Me
What shall I do for the land that bred me,
Her homes and fields that folded and fed me?—
Be under her banner and live for her honour:
Under her banner I’ll live for her honour.
CHORUS. Under her banner live for her honour.
Not the pleasure, the pay, the plunder,
But country and flag, the flag I am under—
There is the shilling that finds me willing
To follow a banner and fight for honour.
CH. We follow her banner, we fight for her honour.
Call me England’s fame’s fond lover,
Her fame to keep, her fame to recover.
Spend me or end me what God shall send me,
But under her banner I live for her honour.
CH. Under her banner we march for her honour.
Where is the field I must play the man on?
O welcome there their steel or cannon.
Immortal beauty is death with duty,
If under her banner I fall for her honour.
CH. Under her banner we fall for her honour.
poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
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M: II: I Cannot Pay your Honour
I have sought to triumph over nothing,
have tri-ed,
have failed to -umph.
Honour is paid
By accepting honour.
By accepting honour,
I would honour trying,
would honour lack of -umph.
I cannot pay your honour.
poem by Douglas Scotney
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Mine honour is my life; both grow in one; take honour from me and my life is done.
quote by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Waterloo Day
THIS is the day of our glory; this is our day to weep.
Under her dusty laurels England stirs in her sleep;
Dreams of her days of honour, terrible days that are dead,
Days of the making of story, days when the sword was red,
When all her fate and her future hung on the naked blade,
When by the sword of her children her place in the world was made,
When Honour sounded the trumpet and Valour leapt to obey,
And Heroes bought us the Empire that statesmen would sell to-day.
England, wanton and weary, sunk in a slothful ease,
Has slain in her wars her thousands, but her tens of thousands in peace:
And the cowards grieve for her glory; their glory is in their shame;
They are glad of the moth in her banners, and the rust on her shining name.
Oh, if the gods would send us a balm for our sick, sad years,
Let them send us a sight of the scarlet, and the sound of the guns in our ears!
For valour and faith and honour--these grow where the red flower grows,
And the leaves for the Nation's healing must spring from the blood of her foes.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Youth’s End
I HAVE held my life too high,
Spring and harvest, love and laughter, smile and sigh.
I should have held it lightly, like a young leaf rent in haste
From the willow in the waste.
A moment in my fingers; then it fluttered, then it fled,
A little flame of red,
To the God-beholding desert where the soundless years go by,–
I have held my life too high.
I have held my death too dear,
Shame or honour, peace or peril, pride or fear.
I should have held it softly, as the little cloud that flies
When the heron takes the skies.
I should have held it kindly as a passing whisper,–'Friend,
Here's the end,
Here the silver cord is loosened and the bowl is broken here,'–
But I held my death too dear.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Bailer
Let them go on bail
Your Honour
Ther are innocent.
I offer myself as a
bailer for them.
I know they have
not done anything
contraveing
natural justice.
Your Honour
Let them go on bail
I on behalf of them
obey the term and condition
as prescribed.
There is no chance of
absconding.
We are all
permanent resident
of this locality.
Have mercy.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Sonnet 25: Let those who are in favour with their stars
Let those who are in favour with their stars
Of public honour and proud titles boast,
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,
Unlooked for joy in that I honour most.
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread,
But as the marigold at the sun's eye,
And in themselves their pride lies burièd,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famousèd for fight,
After a thousand victories once foiled,
Is from the book of honour razèd quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled.
Then happy I that love and am beloved
Where I may not remove nor be removed.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Swift Kill Biting Mosquitoes
goldfish are a sacred species
cats are a sacred species
all life is a sacred species
somewhere to their devotees...
already a few honour all species
already a few honour all life
Buddhists honour all life sacred
most swift kill biting mosquitoes...
poem by Terence George Craddock
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At Parting
Go, since you must, but, Dearest, know
That, Honour having bid you go,
Your honour, if your life be spent,
Shall have a costly monument.
This heart, that fire and roses is
Beneath the magic of your kiss,
Shall turn to marble if you die
And be your deathless effigy.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Say, What Is Honour?--‘Tis The Finest Sense
SAY, what is Honour?--'Tis the finest sense
Of 'justice' which the human mind can frame,
Intent each lurking frailty to disclaim,
And guard the way of life from all offence
Suffered or done. When lawless violence
Invades a Realm, so pressed that in the scale
Of perilous war her weightiest armies fail,
Honour is hopeful elevation,--whence
Glory, and triumph. Yet with politic skill
Endangered States may yield to terms unjust;
Stoop their proud heads, but not unto the dust--
A Foe's most favourite purpose to fulfil:
Happy occasions oft by self-mistrust
Are forfeited; but infamy doth kill.
poem by William Wordsworth
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To Succeed With Honour
the will to honour win
to succeed with honour
to sacrifice for honour
is worth in excess
of 24 carat gold
an attitude not to be sold
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Energy
Matter
It wants to play
Be a mother of singing
Waiting for the return of words
Into her womb
Sparkles between a living and dead self
And an anti self
Honour the innocence
Of its unawareness
Gravity
It wants to play
Increase decrease inside out
Strongholds
And an anti self
Honour the innocence
Of its unawareness
Time
It wants to play
Be a father of changes
It waits for nothing
But its own end
And its anti self
Honour the innocence
Of its unawareness
Space
It wants to play
Be a brother to spacious
Waiting in spasm of the dead ends
For a playful vast
And its anti self
Honour the innocence
Of its unawareness
Energy
It wants to play
Over the dimensions
Be a soul's sister
Across the humans
Free
To kill its anti self
Honour the innocence
Of its awareness
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Stop These Honour Killings
those who kill in the name of honour
what honour are they talking about?
who are you to take so precious a life
who are you to bring justice about
love conquers all so we are told
but here love has bought only death and hate
redeem your twisted sense of justice
take guard before its just too late
to kill to maim, is not humane
to play God is more insane
oh twisted sense of justice, stop
stop causing so much shock and pain
who are you to kill in the name of honour
what honour are u talking about
leave justice to the one above
forget this violence, just cast it out,
live and let live is what should be
look within and always learn to see
you are not perfect, far from it,
cast out cruelty and tyranny
youre full of lies, ego, false pride,
you think others will look up to you
look within my friend and see yourself
youre not a hero, but the hated few
honour is sacred, burning bright
belongs to men that stand up and fight
men who value life for all
men of honour stand out tall
stop these killings once for all
you think youre high but you'll take a fall
play not the judge, just live your own
before bad karma seeds be sown
poem by Arti Chopra
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A Poem for November 28,2007
At rest, in peace, and happily,
in silence, in stillness, and joyfully,
honour yourself. Be yourself.
When you honour yourself
you honour the whole created world.
Live just this day in your glorious self.
Remember it for the rest of your life
as the day the world rested in itself,
the day we were all at rest in peace,
the day the world was a happy place
and you were glad to be that peace;
the day we were all ourself.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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In Honour Of You
In honour of you I'll live my life
To the very best of my ability
I'll recall and apply every wise counsel you ever offered
Savour every word you said trying to raise whatever
Cherish your every attempt to make me feel
In honour of you I'll face the pain gladly
I'll be thankful for the occasion to gain insight
I'll do my utmost to meet with equanimity
Every asshole angel put on my path
Welcoming each challenge as a great opportunity to grow
In honour of you - who has shown me being
Who's own pain is never ever spoken
Who's long suffering is celebrated as a great gift
Who's love and teaching nourishes so, so many
Many and I see life with far, far clearer eyes
In honour of you, who's feet I humbly touch
I shall greet each day with limitless joy
Capture every sparkling moment in my heart's nest
Move forward into new projects, new beginnings
Holding ever and always the nearness of your gracious presence
In honour of you I'll continue traveling
Exploring other cultures, other peoples, other points of view
I'll become fluent in la lingua italiana, visit the Aeolian islands
Find some tenderness for India; visit an ashram; practice Yoga
Everything and anything - all in honour and appreciation of you
poem by Winston T. Gylles
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The Thanksgiving
Oh King of grief! (a title strange, yet true,
To thee of all kings only due)
Oh King of wounds! how shall I grieve for thee,
Who in all grief preventest me?
Shall I weep blood? why thou has wept such store
That all thy body was one door.
Shall I be scourged, flouted, boxed, sold?
'Tis but to tell the tale is told.
'My God, my God, why dost thou part from me? '
Was such a grief as cannot be.
Shall I then sing, skipping, thy doleful story,
And side with thy triumphant glory?
Shall thy strokes be my stroking? thorns, my flower?
Thy rod, my posy? cross, my bower?
But how then shall I imitate thee, and
Copy thy fair, though bloody hand?
Surely I will revenge me on thy love,
And try who shall victorious prove.
If thou dost give me wealth, I will restore
All back unto thee by the poor.
If thou dost give me honour, men shall see,
The honour doth belong to thee.
I will not marry; or, if she be mine,
She and her children shall be thine.
My bosom friend, if he blaspheme thy name,
I will tear thence his love and fame.
One half of me being gone, the rest I give
Unto some Chapel, die or live.
As for thy passion - But of that anon,
When with the other I have done.
For thy predestination I'll contrive,
That three years hence, if I survive,
I'll build a spittle, or mend common ways,
But mend mine own without delays.
Then I will use the works of thy creation,
As if I us'd them but for fashion.
The world and I will quarrel; and the year
Shall not perceive, that I am here.
My music shall find thee, and ev'ry string
Shall have his attribute to sing;
That all together may accord in thee,
And prove one God, one harmony.
If thou shalt give me wit, it shall appear;
If thou hast giv'n it me, 'tis here.
Nay, I will read thy book, and never move
Till I have found therein thy love;
Thy art of love, which I'll turn back on thee,
O my dear Saviour, Victory!
Then for thy passion - I will do for that -
Alas, my God, I know not what.
poem by George Herbert
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From the Rude Bustling Camp
From the rude bustling camp, to the calm rural plain,
I'm come, my dear Jeanie, to bless thee again;
Still burning for honour our warriors may roam,
But the laurel I wish'd for I've won it at home:
All the glories of conquest no joy could impart,
When far from the kind little girl of my heart
Now, safely return'd, I will leave thee no more
But love my dear Jeannie till life's latest hour.
The sweets of retirement how pleasing to me!
Possessing all worth, my dear Jeanie, in thee !
Our flocks early bleating will make us to joy,
And our raptures exceed the warm tints in the sky;
In sweet rural pastimes our days still will glide,
Till Time, looking back, will admire at* his speed;
Still blooming in virtue, though youth them be o'er,
I'll love my dear Jeanie till life's latest hour.
poem by Robert Tannahill
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