In Summer's Heat
In summer's heat and mid-time of the day,
To rest my limbs upon a bed I lay,
One window shut, the other open stood,
Which gave such light as twinkles in a wood
Like twilight glimpse at setting of the sun,
Or night being past and yet not day begun.
Such light to shamefaced maidens must be shown,
Where they may sport, and seem to be unknown.
Then came Corinna in a long, loose gown,
Her white neck hid with tresses hanging down,
Resembling fair Semiramis going to bed,
Or Lais of a thousand wooers sped.
I snatched her gown, being thin the harm was small,
Yet strived she to be covered therewithal,
And, striving thus as one that would be chaste,
Betrayed herself, and yielded at the last.
Stark naked as she stood before mine eye,
Not one wen in her body could I spy.
What arms and shoulders did I touch and see?
How apt her breasts were to be pressed by me?
How smooth a belly under her waist saw I?
How large a leg, and what a lusty thigh?
To leave the rest, all liked me passing well;
I clinged her naked body, down she fell.
Judge you the rest. Being tired, she bade me kiss.
Jove send me more such afternoons as this.
Related quotes
Elegies, Book One, 5
In summer’s heat and mid-time of the day
To rest my limbs upon a bed I lay,
One window shut, the other open stood,
Which gave such light as twinkles in a wood,
Like twilight glimpse at setting of the sun
Or night being past, and yet not day begun.
Such light to shamefaced maidens must be shown,
Where they may sport, and seem to be unknown.
Then came Corinna in a long loose gown,
Her white neck hid with tresses hanging down:
Resembling fair Semiramis going to bed
Or Laïs of a thousand wooers sped.
I snatched her gown, being thin, the harm was small,
Yet strived she to be covered therewithal.
And striving thus as one that would be cast,
Betrayed herself, and yielded at the last.
Stark naked as she stood before mine eye,
Not one wen in her body could I spy.
What arms and shoulders did I touch and see,
How apt her breasts were to be pressed by me?
How smooth a belly under her waist saw I?
How large a leg, and what a lusty thigh?
To leave the rest, all liked me passing well,
I clinged her naked body, down she fell,
Judge you the rest: being tired she bad me kiss,
Jove send me more such afternoons as this
poem by Christopher Marlowe
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Elegy V
In summer's heat and mid-time of the day
To rest my limbs upon a bed I lay,
One window shut, the other open stood,
Which gave such light, as twinkles in a wood,
Like twilight glimpse at setting of the sun,
Or night being past, and yet not day begun.
Such light to shamefast maidens must be shown,
Where they must sport, and seem to be unknown.
Then came Corinna in a long loose gown,
Her white neck hid with tresses hanging down:
Resembling fair Semiramis going to bed
Or Layis of a thousand wooers sped.
I snatched her gown, being thin, the harm was small,
Yet strived she to be covered there withal.
And striving thus as one that would be chaste,
Betrayed herself, and yeilded at the last.
Stark naked as she stood before mine eye,
Not one wen in her body could I spy.
What arms and shoulders did I touch and see,
How apt her breasts were to be pressed by me.
How smooth a belly under her waist saw I?
How large a leg, and what a lusty thigh?
To leave the rest, all liked me passing well,
I clinged her naked body, down she fell,
Judge you the rest, being tired she bade me kiss,
Jove sent me more such afternoons as this.
Healing Part Ii
Where you are going
You cannot take your body
You are on a journey,
The baggage is too heavy
You can leave your legs behind you,
You will learn to fly
You can leave your arms behind you,
You will touch the sky
You can leave your head behind you,
You are thought itself
You can leave the rest behind you,
You are breath itself
Now you are naked,
Theres no one here to judge you
See the clear light
Shining high above you
Then youre floating in the silence,
You are not alone
For the power of your being
Keeps you flowing on
Look upon yourself
Only with compassion
Strip away the shell
Hiding your perfection
Though your past was full of darkness,
Now the past is gone
And your life is starting over
When its just begun
Now you are whole,
Dont you recognize it
Towering eternal
Behind the troubled thoughts that hide it
Though at times it seems so distant,
It is always there
When you need its peace and power,
You will know its here
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Is My Naked Self
this is my naked self
what you are seeing is my naked truth
i am not ashamed of my flesh and body
you desire it
you touch it
let my senses live
wake me up with the slightest kindness
of your touch
this is my naked self
i am seated bside the open shutters of my green bay window
little touches of light from the early morning light sketch my shadow
i am here
long waiting for you
just you my love
my only love
kiss me
touch me
let me live for another day
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Vixi Puellis Nuper Idoneus...
THEY flee from me that sometime did me seek,
With naked foot stalking within my chamber:
Once have I seen them gentle, tame, and meek,
That now are wild, and do not once remember
That sometime they have put themselves in danger
To take bread at my hand; and now they range,
Busily seeking in continual change.
Thanked be fortune, it hath been otherwise
Twenty times better; but once especial--
In thin array: after a pleasant guise,
When her loose gown did from her shoulders fall,
And she me caught in her arms long and small,
And therewithal so sweetly did me kiss,
And softly said, 'Dear heart, how like you this?'
It was no dream; for I lay broad awaking:
But all is turn'd now, through my gentleness,
Into a bitter fashion of forsaking;
And I have leave to go of her goodness;
And she also to use new-fangleness.
But since that I unkindly so am served,
'How like you this?'--what hath she now deserved?
poem by Sir Thomas Wyatt
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Adventurers
This morning I got up before the sun
Had seized the hill,
And scrambled heart-hot, noisy, past each one
In sleep laid still.
There they lay helpless under the gold stars,
Good folk and kind,
By sleep the robber spoiled of heavenly wares,
Made deaf and blind.
The leaves cracked, the grass rustled as I passed.
I might have been
Myself the thief. Each minute seemed the last
Of freedom's teen.
But lonely down the hill in Levite's guise
Or priest's, I ran.
I had not proved myself, true loverwise,
Samaritan.
The wind went by me, pulling at my hair.
I left the track.
My last night's purpose terrible and fair
Came sweeping back.
Among the bracken under a white tree
I sat me down,
And slipped my shoulders very stealthily
From out my gown.
One minute I lay naked on the grass,
Then sat upright.
The hot wind had its will with me, and kissed
My bosom white.
The stars gleamed in the grey before the rose.
Were they not eyes
That peered and leered, and seemed about to close
In shocked surprise?
With the whole sky at gaze, there had I lain.
Had dared thus much.
I ran on frightened down the hill again,
With gown to clutch.
Down by the creek the blackberries grew thick,
And as I passed
They stretched long arms to hinder me and prick,
Make me shamefast?
Nay, they laughed, pulling at my slipping gown,
Would have laid bare
To chance men on the hillside looking down
The whiteness there.
Close by the blackwoods is the bathing pool
The men have made.
I was no sport for stars, no bramble's fool
In the trees' shade.
But when I stood with limbs and body free
And gleaming fair,
The little kind ferns screened and covered me
Like Agnes' hair.
I slipped into the shallow water, felt
The fine brown sand
Of the creek bottom, shuddered, splashed and knelt
Too cold to stand.
Happy and shivering, with trees overhead,
Fern walls around,
I listened to the water talking, led
To praise by sound.
So I have felt the wind and water's kiss,
Though I'm a maid.
Better be man than be a girl, and miss
Feeling afraid.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Kemp Owyne
As a small child her mother died
that sorrowed her in her heart,
when her father married again
a wicked cruel lady
and almost like a slave
she beckoned to the woman’s call
and did every task
big or small, she did them all
until one moonless night
the women send her father to bed,
and in darkness without any light
said strange things casting a spell
and carried little Isabel
to a cliff above the sea
and in glee cursed her sorrowfully
until Kemp Owyne
who lived in a far of city
come to the rescue
and with three kisses set her free
and into the waters she threw the child
laughing wickedly
and covered Isabel was
in scales from tail to fin
and tales of a hideous beast
with long hair, breathing strong
was told by the people that came across her,
even to those across the sea
and to her it was a great calamity
and immediately Kemp Owyne
sailed with his great boat,
from the far off city
to see for himself
and she begged him for a kiss
and still hideous was she
and a magic belt fit for a king
would be his
that would protect against any enemy
but warned him to only kiss
and not to touch,
the rest of her body
or the belt would bring him death
would cause his last breath
and gallant Kemp Owyne
gave her a kiss
and the belt was his
and she begged him for a kiss
and still hideous was she
and a ring fit for king
she offered him
that would protect against any enemy
but warned him to only kiss
and not to touch,
the rest of her body
or the ring would become a deadly thing
and gallant Kemp Owyne
gave her a kiss
and the ring was his
and she begged him for a kiss
and still hideous was she
and a mighty sword fit for king
she offered him
that would protect against any enemy
but warned him to only kiss
and not to touch,
the rest of her body
or an enemy sword would pierce him
and gallant Kemp Owyne
gave her a kiss
and it was sweet bliss,
full of passion was he
and the sword was his
and transformed was she
with hair short,
more beautiful than any queen
and she was free,
walked on to the beach
right out of the sea
and gallant Kemp Owyne
begged her to accompany him.
[Reference: Kemp Owyne by unknown poet.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Tree Ballerina Attitude Night Glorified
young tree danced
her solo after bearing
hot heat of day
in depth ink darkness
smooth naked pale bark
stood out stretched
in rhythmic star light
symphony against velvet
backdropp of still night
as youth tree danced
standing stretched upright
one leg ground based
standing upon one leg
other left leg raised
behind pale naked body
with her knee bent
chest pressed forward
head back inclined
branching off into greenery
both arms stretch up back
fingers feather into green leaf
tree ballerina face twisted
partly in ecstasy to side
your attitude night glorified
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Helen Wiped Her Glasses
Helen wiped
her thick lens glasses
with the hem
of her school dress
and you watched
her finger and thumb
move around the glass
in circular motion
Can you see much
without your glasses?
you asked
she looked up at you
and said
Not much
you for instance
are like a small tree
without leaves
with thin branches
hanging down
you smiled and saw
as she lifted the hem
a glimpse of thigh
white as one kept
out of sun and light
But what do I look like
with your glasses on?
you asked
looking at her face
and eyes that squinted
quite naked
without the specs
A boy who's cheeky
but often shy
especially around girls
and their blue eyes
and dark curls
and she giggled
and dropped
the hem of
her dress
and put her glasses on
and her eyes enlarged
and gazed at you
taking in
your unkempt hair
and school boy grin
and at that moment
as she stood stifling
her giggle with one
small hand
you sensed a love
you neither had before
nor could
in the light of day
and innocence of youth
quite understand.
poem by Terry Collett
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Young
A thousand doors ago
when I was a lonely kid
in a big house with four
garages and it was summer
as long as I could remember,
I lay on the lawn at night,
clover wrinkling over me,
the wise stars bedding over me,
my mother's window a funnel
of yellow heat running out,
my father's window, half shut,
an eye where sleepers pass,
and the boards of the house
were smooth and white as wax
and probably a million leaves
sailed on their strange stalks
as the crickets ticked together
and I, in my brand new body,
which was not a woman's yet,
told the stars my questions
and thought God could really see
the heat and the painted light,
elbows, knees, dreams, goodnight.
poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Morning (Poem From The Movie Il Postino)
Naked, you are simple as one of your hands,
smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round:
you have moon-lines, apple-pathways:
naked, you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.
Naked, you are blue as a night in Cuba;
you have vines and stars in your hair;
naked, you are spacious and yellow
as summer in a golden church.
Naked, you are tiny as one of your nails-
curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born
and you withdraw to the underground world,
as if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores:
your clear light dims, gets dressed - drops its leaves-
and becomes a naked hand again
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet XXVII: Naked You Are As Simple as one of your Hands
Naked, you are simple as one of your hands,
Smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round:
You have moonlines, applepathways:
Naked, you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.
Naked, you are blue as the night in Cuba;
You have vines and stars in your hair;
Naked, you are spacious and yellow
As summer in a golden church.
Naked, you are tiny as one of your nails,
Curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born
And you withdraw to the underground world,
as if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores:
Your clear light dims, gets dressed, drops its leaves,
And becomes a naked hand again.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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On the bed she lies stretched out almost naked,
On the bed she lies stretched out almost naked,
in a transparent night-gown
with her breasts and large nipples
immediately drawing my attention,
her love triangle
with dark pubic hair shines through
when passion causes her
to rip the front buttons of my shirt off
that falls like raindrops
pattering on the wooden floor
when my body is hot against mine,
with my hands finding her soft supple breasts
with her lips smouldering on mine,
with her hand leading me to her boiling point
and we are both shivering
caught in moments of lust
while she has difficulty
to unbuckle my belt,
to zip it down
and we both melt into each other nakedly.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The King's Daughter
WE WERE ten maidens in the green corn,
Small red leaves in the mill-water:
Fairer maidens never were born,
Apples of gold for the king’s daughter.
We were ten maidens by a well-head,
Small white birds in the mill-water:
Sweeter maidens never were wed,
Rings of red for the king’s daughter.
The first to spin, the second to sing,
Seeds of wheat in the mill-water;
The third may was a goodly thing,
White bread and brown for the king’s daughter.
The fourth to sew and the fifth to play,
Fair green weed in the mill-water;
The sixth may was a goodly may,
White wine and red for the king’s daughter.
The seventh to woo, the eighth to wed,
Fair thin reeds in the mill-water;
The ninth had gold work on her head,
Honey in the comb for the king’s daughter.
The ninth had gold work round her hair,
Fallen flowers in the mill-water;
The tenth may was goodly and fair,
Golden gloves for the king’s daughter.
We were ten maidens in a field green,
Fallen fruit in the mill-water;
Fairer maidens never have been,
Golden sleeves for the king’s daughter.
By there comes the king’s young son,
A little wind in the mill-water;
“Out of ten maidens ye’ll grant me one,”
A crown of red for the king’s daughter.
“Out of ten mays ye’ll give me the best,”
A little rain in the mill-water;
A bed of yellow straw for all the rest,
A bed of gold for the king’s daughter.
He’s ta’en out the goodliest,
Rain that rains in the mill-water;
A comb of yellow shell for all the rest,
A comb of gold for the king’s daughter.
He’s made her bed to the goodliest,
Wind and hail in the mill-water;
A grass girdle for all the rest,
A girdle of arms for the king’s daughter.
He’s set his heart to the goodliest,
Snow that snows in the mill-water;
Nine little kisses for all the rest,
An hundredfold for the king’s daughter.
He’s ta’en his leave at the goodliest,
Broken boats in the mill-water;
Golden gifts for all the rest,
Sorrow of heart for the king’s daughter.
“Ye’ll make a grave for my fair body,”
Running rain in the mill-water;
“And ye’ll streek my brother at the side of me,”
The pains of hell for the king’s daughter.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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It Starts With A Kiss
It starts with a kiss,
That brings the world down,
A kiss,
That makes my body give in,
It starts with a kiss,
And your hands,
Slowly moving down my back,
And lifting me up to put my legs around you,
It starts with a kiss,
Our lips will do what they do,
My lips will part,
When yours do,
It starts with a kiss,
With my hands through your hair,
And with your hands on my waist,
Man this world seems to quake,
It starts with a kiss,
Man this is so fair,
Your lips feel so good,
On mine that just sit their,
It starts with a kiss,
That makes the whole room stop,
They see sparks fly,
And the room glow in a light so pure,
It starts with a kiss,
But when your lips leave mine,
My neck feels their company,
Then my body gives into you,
It starts with a kiss,
Your lips seem to know what to do,
Cause they are moving up and down my neck,
Once that ends they find my lips again,
It starts with a kiss,
And my body sub comes to you,
And once again,
The Kiss Is Where It All Begins! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Windflowers
When I was little and good
I walked in the dappled wood
Where light white windflowers grew,
And hyacinths heavy and blue.
The windflowers fluttered light,
Like butterflies white and bright;
The bluebells tremulous stood
Deep in the heart of the wood.
I gathered the white and the blue,
The wild wet woodland through,
With hands too silly and small
To clasp and carry them all.
Some dropped from my hands and died
By the home-road's grassy side;
And those that my fond hands pressed
Died even before the rest.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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They Flee From Me
They flee from me that sometime did me seek
With naked foot, stalking in my chamber.
I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek,
That now are wild and do not remember
That sometime they put themself in danger
To take bread at my hand; and now they range,
Busily seeking with a continual change.
Thanked be fortune it hath been otherwise
Twenty times better; but once in special,
In thin array after a pleasant guise,
When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall,
And she me caught in her arms long and small;
Therewithall sweetly did me kiss
And softly said, 'dear heart, how like you this?'
It was no dream: I lay broad waking.
But all is turned thorough my gentleness
Into a strange fashion of forsaking;
And I have leave to go of her goodness,
And she also, to use newfangleness.
But since that I so kindly am served
I would fain know what she hath deserved.
poem by Sir Thomas Wyatt
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They Flee From Me That Sometime Did Me Seek
They flee from me that sometime did me seek
With naked foot, stalking in my chamber.
I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek,
That now are wild and do not remember
That sometime they put themself in danger
To take bread at my hand; and now they range,
Busily seeking with a continual change.
Thanked be fortune it hath been otherwise
Twenty times better; but once in special,
In thin array after a pleasant guise,
When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall,
And she me caught in her arms long and small;
Therewithall sweetly did me kiss
And softly said, 'dear heart, how like you this?'
It was no dream: I lay broad waking.
But all is turned thorough my gentleness
Into a strange fashion of forsaking;
And I have leave to go of her goodness,
And she also, to use newfangleness.
But since that I so kindly am served
I would fain know what she hath deserved.
poem by David McKee Wright
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They Flee From Me That Sometime Did Me Seek
They flee from me that sometime did me seek,
With naked foot stalking in my chamber.
I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek
That are now wild and do not remember
That sometime they put themselves in danger
To take bread at my hand; and now they range
Busily seeking with a continual change.
Thanked be fortune, it hath been otherwise
Twenty times better; but once in special,
In thin array after a pleasant guise,
When her loose gown did from her shoulders did fall,
And she me caught in her arms long and small,
Therewithall sweetly did me kiss,
And softly said, "Dear heart, how like you this?"
It was no dream, I lay broad waking.
But all is turned thorough my gentleness,
Into a strange fashion of forsaking;
And I have leave to go of her goodness,
And she also to use newfangleness.
But since that I so kindly am served,
I would fain know what she hath deserved.
poem by Sir Thomas Wyatt
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Swimming in Time
Swimming in Time
By: Adam M. Snow
I am lost yet found;
in time surround;
past and future follows.
I see the door;
neither open nor closed;
and divine nevermore.
I'm swimming in time;
seeing your life and mine;
and all that gleams;
in this time divine.
This is beyond reality;
beyond mortality;
swimming in time.
I feel no pain;
not crazy nor sane;
neither light nor dark.
I'm but one yet not alone;
between space and time;
in the looking glass shown.
I'm not dead nor am I alive;
but a ghost that thrive.
I swam through time;
to see your dreams delight;
down an isle in a gown so white.
I'm swimming in time, time again;
being resurrected now and then.
I see the sun covered in blood;
waiting here for the endless flood.
The sandman awakes to children cries;
as mother nature dies.
The people wander with hearts of weary;
as the stars grew dark in the night;
they lay to rest their soul so dreary;
hoping that time would finally cease;
and everything would be at ease.
I am swimming in time.
there's no fantasy;
nor is there ecstasy.
It's a bad nursery rhyme;
and everyone is blind;
yet I am within my dreams;
trapped in time.
I'm my own shadow;
staring at me;
through a broken window.
I'm not blind yet I cannot see;
all my pass desires.
This is my only crime;
now I am drowning in time.
I'm caged yet free as time despise;
and all the truth feels like lies;
here all alone, lost in time.
there's no rest for the weary;
as we suffer sick and dreary.
I am stuck in time;
trapped in abyss;
nevermore will I feel bliss.
I am one broken in two;
again, nevermore will I be new.
I hear the echo;
it calls to me;
telling me I should let go;
of all my doubt and misery.
For all time sake;
I lay here, now wide awake;
no more swimming in time;
now gone is the night;
sun now greets me with morning light.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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