When Lovely Woman Stoops To Folly
When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom, is—to die.
poem by Oliver Goldsmith
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Song From 'The Vicar Of Wakefield
WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom, is -- to die.
poem by Oliver Goldsmith
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When lovely woman stoops to folly, and finds too late that men betray, what charm can soothe her melancholy, what art can wash her guilt away?
quote by Oliver Goldsmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tribute to Oliver Goldsmith
Tribute to O.Goldsmith
When a lovely woman stoops to folly
and finds too late that men betray.
What can cure her melancholy?
what can wash her guilt away?
Oliver Goldsmith
When a lovely woman stoops to folly
then she alone must bear the shame.
She had her fling but now by golly
she finds that she has lost the game.
And finds too late that men betray.
It was her choice she took her
her lust with no delay
and joined him in the oldest dance.
What can cure her melancholy?
Except perhaps a new affair
another essay into folly.
Has she the courage will she dare.
What can wash her guilt away?
She can pretend to innocence
What no one knows no one can say.
Her silence is her best defence.
18-Feb-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Rain: Is my crue..
Rain, rain, rain, rain, heal my heart for it is broken.
Rain, from the angelic-like sky.
Rain, pour here and clean my (heart) , my(mind) , my (soul) .
Rain why are you here?
Rain, are you here to wash away my Pain.......? (no)
Are you here to wash away my Debts.....? (no)
Rain, are you here to wash away Guilt..........? ...........(NO) !
Rain, will never be here for Me, Rain will never be there for You!
But, still i ask the Rain please cover my Tears that are of Guilt, Hate-rid, and Shame? ? ? ? ................................................. ................................................. ............
poem by Naazia Thomas
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Rain: Is my crue...
Rain, rain, rain, rain, heal my heart for it is broken.
Rain, from the angelic-like sky.
Rain, pour here and clean my (heart) , my(mind) , my (soul) .
Rain why are you here?
Rain, are you here to wash away my Pain.......? (no)
Are you here to wash away my Debts.....? (no)
Rain, are you here to wash away Guilt..........? ...........(NO) !
Rain, will never be here for Me, Rain will never be there for You!
But, still i ask the Rain please cover my Tears that are of Guilt, Hate-rid, and Shame? ? ? ? ................................................. ................................................. ............
poem by Naazia Thomas
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The Sunrise runs for Both
710
The Sunrise runs for Both—
The East—Her Purple Troth
Keeps with the Hill—
The Noon unwinds Her Blue
Till One Breadth cover Two—
Remotest—still—
Nor does the Night forget
A Lamp for Each—to set—
Wicks wide away—
The North—Her blazing Sign
Erects in Iodine—
Till Both—can see—
The Midnight's Dusky Arms
Clasp Hemispheres, and Homes
And so
Upon Her Bosom—One—
And One upon Her Hem—
Both lie—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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I think just how my shape will rise
237
I think just how my shape will rise—
When I shall be "forgiven"—
Till Hair—and Eyes—and timid Head—
Are out of sight—in Heaven—
I think just how my lips will weigh—
With shapeless—quivering—prayer—
That you—so late—"Consider" me—
The "Sparrow" of your Care—
I mind me that of Anguish—sent—
Some drifts were moved away—
Before my simple bosom—broke—
And why not this—if they?
And so I con that thing—"forgiven"—
Until& mdash;delirious—borne—
By my long bright—and longer—trust—
I drop my Heart—unshriven!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Guilt Will Wilt The Sweetest Flower
[Song Lyric]
Guilt will wilt the sweetest flower,
Cause the very sun to glower,
Though the skies their tears may shower.
Guilt will wilt the sweetest flower.
Shame will tame the lion's power,
Make the boldest warrior cower,
Turn the taste of triumph sour.
Guilt will wilt the sweetest flower.
For each mister, miss, or madam,
Son or lover— this is so.
In the Bible Eve and Adam
Did discover long ago...
That guilt will wilt the sweetest flower,
Steal the pleasure from the hour,
Even in the greenest bower—
Guilt will wilt the sweetest flower.
poem by Harley White
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Her—"last Poems"
312
Her—"last Poems"—
Poets—ended—
Silver—perished—with her Tongue—
Not on Record—bubbled other,
Flute—or Woman—
So divine—
Not unto its Summer—Morning
Robin—uttered Half the Tune—
Gushed too free for the Adoring—
From the Anglo-Florentine—
Late—the Praise—
'Tis dull—conferring
On the Head too High to Crown—
Diadem—or Ducal Showing—
Be its Grave—sufficient sign—
Nought—that We—No Poet's Kinsman—
Suffocate—with easy woe—
What, and if, Ourself a Bridegroom—
Put Her down—in Italy?
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Body grows without
578
The Body grows without—
The more convenient way—
That if the Spirit—like to hide
Its Temple stands, alway,
Ajar—secure—inviting&md ash;
It never did betray
The Soul that asked its shelter
In solemn honesty
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Conscience is silenced
Butchers have no guilt that they have slaughtered.
Choppers have no guilt that they have chopped
Fishermen have no guilt for their catch.
Soldiers have no guilt for their killings
Killing as profession will silence one’s conscience.
18.11.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The World—stands—solemner—to me
493
The World—stands—solemner—to me—
Since I was wed—to Him—
A modesty befits the soul
That bears another's—name—
A doubt—if it be fair—indeed—
To wear that perfect—pearl—
The Man—upon the Woman—binds—
To clasp her soul—for all—
A prayer, that it more angel—prove—
A whiter Gift—within—
To that munificence, that chose—
So unadorned—a Queen—
A Gratitude—that such be true—
It had esteemed the Dream—
Too beautiful—for Shape to prove—
Or posture—to redeem!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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There is a Shame of Nobleness
551
There is a Shame of Nobleness—
Confronting Sudden Pelf—
A finer Shame of Ecstasy—
Convicted of Itself—
A best Disgrace—a Brave Man feels—
Acknowledged—of the Brave—
One More—"Ye Blessed"—to be told—
But that's—Behind the Grave—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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A Murmur in the Trees—to note
416
A Murmur in the Trees—to note—
Not loud enough—for Wind—
A Star—not far enough to seek—
Nor near enough—to find—
A long—long Yellow—on the Lawn—
A Hubbub—as of feet—
Not audible—as Ours—to Us—
But dapperer—More Sweet—
A Hurrying Home of little Men
To Houses unperceived—
All this—and more—if I should tell—
Would never be believed—
Of Robins in the Trundle bed
How many I espy
Whose Nightgowns could not hide the Wings—
Although I heard them try—
But then I promised ne'er to tell—
How could I break My Word?
So go your Way—and I'll go Mine—
No fear you'll miss the Road.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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It was too late for Man
623
It was too late for Man—
But early, yet, for God—
Creation—impotent to help—
But Prayer—remained—Our Side—
How excellent the Heaven—
When Earth—cannot be had—
How hospitable—then—the face
Of our Old Neighbor—God—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Two Way Guilt
A lone and empty shell.
We both turned it to this ghostly hell.
You drove at me I drove it back.
Two way guilt in this attack.
Don't shirk what you know is plain and true.
Half the responsibility lays on you.
Yet still you push and try to kill,
the love we shared the electric feel.
Two way guilt it's over and done.
I take my blame I am ashamed.
I love you still though I 'll hide it through.
Showing others far more love than I was ever able to show you.
If only you'd listened right from me,
this two way guilt would not be.
So go have your thing and live in misery.
I know you are because you've said to me.
I hope one day soon you'll see it too.
Two way guilt did us through.
poem by Michael McParland
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I can wade Grief
252
I can wade Grief—
Whole Pools of it—
I'm used to that—
But the least push of Joy
Breaks up my feet—
And I tip—drunken—
Let no Pebble—smile—
'Twas the New Liquor—
That was all!
Power is only Pain—
Stranded, thro' Discipline,
Till Weights—will hang—
Give Balm—to Giants—
And they'll wilt, like Men—
Give Himmaleh—
They'll Carry—Him!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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It feels a shame to be Alive
444
It feels a shame to be Alive—
When Men so brave—are dead—
One envies the Distinguished Dust—
Permitted—such a Head—
The Stone—that tells defending Whom
This Spartan put away
What little of Him we—possessed
In Pawn for Liberty—
The price is great—Sublimely paid—
Do we deserve—a Thing—
That lives—like Dollars—must be piled
Before we may obtain?
Are we that wait—sufficient worth—
That such Enormous Pearl
As life—dissolved be—for Us—
In Battle's—horrid Bowl?
It may be—a Renown to live—
I think the Man who die—
Those unsustained—Saviors—
Present Divinity—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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I shall keep singing!
250
I shall keep singing!
Birds will pass me
On their way to Yellower Climes—
Each—with a Robin's expectation—
I—with my Redbreast—
And my Rhymes—
Late—when I take my place in summer—
But—I shall bring a fuller tune—
Vespers—are sweeter than Matins—Signor—
Morning—only the seed of Noon—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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True guilt is guilt at the obligation one owes to oneself to be oneself. False guilt is guilt felt at not being what other people feel one ought to be or assume that one is.
quote by R.D. Laing
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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