Mutability - II.
I.
The flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow dies;
All that we wish to stay
Tempts and then flies.
What is this world’s delight?
Lightning that mocks the night,
Brief even as bright.
II.
Virtue, how frail it is!
Friendship how rare!
Love, how it sells poor bliss
For proud despair!
But we, though soon they fall,
Survive their joy, and all
Which ours we call.
III.
Whilst skies are blue and bright,
Whilst flowers are gay,
Whilst eyes that change ere night
Make glad the day;
Whilst yet the calm hours creep,
Dream thou—and from thy sleep
Then wake to weep.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Related quotes
Sonnet XL: But Love
But love whilst that thou mayst be lov'd again,
Now whilst thy May hath fill'd thy lap with flowers;
Now, whilst thy beauty bears without a stain,
Now use thy Summer smiles ere Winter lours.
And whilst thou spread'st unto the rising sun,
The fairest flower that ever saw the light,
Now joy thy time before thy sweet be done;
And, Delia, think thy morning must have night,
And that thy brightness sets at length to west,
When thou wilt close up that which now thou showest,
And think the same becomes thy fading best
Which then shall hide it most and cover lowest.
Men do not weigh the stalk for that it was;
When once they find her flower, her glory pass.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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Mountain's grief
Have I ever wept on a mountain's grief?
The sadness so profound, yet so majestic
That thy strongest heart bore since thou wert born
What is so immortal in a grief that finds a spring to express?
Just a solace, an easing out of a pine
The greatest grief in this world
is sculptured on you
So thou stands still, watching forever
Whilst the rest of the world weep
So the river floats on God's tears
Whilst He mourns on thy grief
So the birds sing in melody
Whilst thy heart burns in pain
So the wild rains thunder
Whilst the saddest quake in your heart erupts
In a wave around all thy moist rocks
Copyright: Shamik Bose 2009
poem by Shamik Bose
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Song : 'Love Armed
Love in fantastic triumph sat,
Whilst bleeding hearts around him flow'd,
For whom fresh pains he did create,
And strange tyrannic power he shew'd;
From thy bright eyes he took his fire,
Which round about in sport he hurl'd;
But 'twas from mine he took desire
Enough to undo the amorous world.
From me he took his sighs and tears,
From thee his pride and cruelty;
From me his languishments and fears,
And every killing dart from thee;
Thus thou and I the God have arm'd,
And set him up a Deity;
But my poor heart alone is harm'd,
Whilst thine the victor is, and free.
poem by Aphra Behn
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Song from Abdelazar
Love in fantastic triumph sat,
Whilst bleeding hearts around him flow'd,
For whom fresh pains he did create,
And strange tyrannic power he shew'd;
From thy bright eyes he took his fire,
Which round about in sport he hurl'd;
But 'twas from mine he took desire
Enough to undo the amorous world.
From me he took his sighs and tears,
From thee his pride and cruelty;
From me his languishments and fears,
And every killing dart from thee;
Thus thou and I the God have arm'd,
And set him up a Deity;
But my poor heart alone is harm'd,
Whilst thine the victor is, and free.
poem by Aphra Behn
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Love Arm'd
Love in Fantastique Triumph satt,
Whilst bleeding Hearts around him flow'd,
For whom Fresh pains he did create,
And strange Tryanic power he show'd;
From thy Bright Eyes he took his fire,
Which round about, in sport he hurl'd;
But 'twas from mine he took desire,
Enough to undo the Amorous World.
From me he took his sighs and tears,
From thee his Pride and Crueltie;
From me his Languishments and Feares,
And every Killing Dart from thee;
Thus thou and I, the God have arm'd,
And sett him up a Deity;
But my poor Heart alone is harm'd,
Whilst thine the Victor is, and free.
poem by Aphra Behn
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The Blind Boy
O SAY what is that thing call’d Light,
Which I must ne’er enjoy;
What are the blessings of the sight,
O tell your poor blind boy!
You talk of wondrous things you see,
You say the sun shines bright;
I feel him warm, but how can he
Or make it day or night?
My day or night myself I make
Whene’er I sleep or play;
And could I ever keep awake
With me ’twere always day.
With heavy sighs I often hear
You mourn my hapless woe;
But sure with patience I can bear
A loss I ne’er can know.
Then let not what I cannot have
My cheer of mind destroy:
Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,
Although a poor blind boy.
poem by Colley Cibber
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Sonnet 143: Lo, as a careful huswife runs to catch
Lo, as a careful huswife runs to catch
One of her feathered creatures broke away,
Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay,
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase,
Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent
To follow that which flies before her face,
Not prizing her poor infant's discontent:
So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee,
Whilst I, thy babe, chase thee afar behind;
But if thou catch thy hope turn back to me,
And play the mother's part: kiss me, be kind.
So will I pray that thou mayst have thy Will,
If thou turn back and my loud crying still.
poem by William Shakespeare
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O friend
O friend! hope for Him whilst you live
O friend! hope for Him whilst you live,
know whilst you live, understand whilst you live:
for in life deliverance abides.
If your bonds be not broken whilst living,
what hope of deliverance in death ?
It is but an empty dream, that the soul shall have union with Him
because it has passed from the body:
If He is found now, He is found then,
If not, we do but go to dwell in the City of Death.
If you have union now, you shall have it hereafter.
Bathe in the truth, know the true Guru,
have faith in the true Name!
Kabir says : 'It is the spirit of the quest which helps;
I am the slave of this Spirit of the quest.'
Winter Evening At Home
Fair Moon, that at the chilly day's decline
Of sharp December through my cottage pane
Dost lovely look, smiling, though in thy wane!
In thought, to scenes, serene and still as thine,
Wanders my heart, whilst I by turns survey
Thee slowly wheeling on thy evening way;
And this my fire, whose dim, unequal light,
Just glimmering, bids each shadowy image fall
Sombrous and strange upon the darkening wall,
Ere the clear tapers chase the deepening night!
Yet thy still orb, seen through the freezing haze,
Shines calm and clear without; and whilst I gaze,
I think, around me in this twilight room,
I but remark mortality's sad gloom;
Whilst hope and joy cloudless and soft appear,
In the sweet beam that lights thy distant sphere.
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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On The Dark Height of Jura
I.
Ghosts of the dead! have I not heard your yelling
Rise on the night-rolling breath of the blast,
When o’er the dark aether the tempest is swelling,
And on eddying whirlwind the thunder-peal passed?
II.
For oft have I stood on the dark height of Jura
Which frowns on the valley that opens beneath;
Oft have I braved the chill night-tempest's fury,
Whilst around me, I thought, echoed murmurs of death.
III.
And now, whilst the winds of the mountain are howling,
O father! thy voice seems to strike on mine ear;
In air whilst the tide of the night-storm is rolling,
It breaks on the pause of the elements' jar.
IV.
On the wing of the whirlwind which roars o'er the mountain
Perhaps rides the ghost of my sire who is dead:
On the mist of the tempest which hangs o'er the fountain,
Whilst a wreath of dark vapour encircles his head.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Hope For Him
O friend! hope for Him whilst you live, know whilst you live,
understand whilst you live: for in life deliverance abides.
If your bonds be not broken whilst living, what hope of
deliverance in death?
It is but an empty dream, that the soul shall have union with Him
because it has passed from the body:
If He is found now, He is found then,
If not, we do but go to dwell in the City of Death.
If you have union now, you shall have it hereafter.
Bathe in the truth, know the true Guru, have faith in the true
Name!
Kabîr says: 'It is the Spirit of the quest which helps; I am the slave of this Spirit of the quest.
To the Evening Star
Thou fair-haired angel of the evening,
Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light
Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown
Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!
Smile on our loves, and while thou drawest the
Blue curtains of the sky, scatter thy silver dew
On every flower that shuts its sweet eyes
In timely sleep. Let thy west wing sleep on
The lake; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes,
And wash the dusk with silver. Soon, full soon,
Dost thou withdraw; then the wolf rages wide,
And the lion glares through the dun forest.
The fleeces of our flocks are covered with
Thy sacred dew; protect with them with thine influence.
poem by William Blake
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Sonnet XLIV: Whilst Thus My Pen
Whilst thus my pen strives to eternize thee,
Age rules my lines with wrinkles in my face,
Where in the map of all my misery
Is modell'd out the world of my disgrace.
Whilst, in despite of tyrannizing times,
Medea-like, I make thee young again,
Proudly thou scorn'st my world-outwearing rhymes
And murtherest virtue with thy coy disdain.
And though in youth my youth untimely perish,
To keep thee from oblivion and the grave
Ensuing ages yet my rhymes shall cherish,
When I entomb'd, my better part shall save;
And though this earthly body fade and die,
My name shall mount upon eternity.
poem by Michael Drayton
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On The Death Of Rebecca
Thou delicate blossom; thy short race is ended,
Thou sample of virtue and prize of the brave!
No more are thy beauties by mortals attended,
They now are but food for the worms and the grave.
Thou art gone to the tomb, whence there's no returning,
And left us behind in a vale of suspense;
In vain to the dust do we follow thee mourning,
The same doleful trump will soon call us all hence.
I view thee now launched on eternity's ocean,
Thy soul how it smiles as it floats on the wave;
It smiles as if filled with the softest emotion,
But looks not behind on the frowns of the grave.
The messenger came from afar to relieve thee--
In this lonesome valley no more shalt thon roam;
Bright seraphs now stand on the banks to receive thee,
And cry, 'Happy stranger, thou art welcome at home.'
Thou art gone to a feast, while thy friends are bewailing,
Oh, death is a song to the poor ransom'd slave;
Away with bright visions the spirit goes sailing,
And leaves the frail body to rest in the grave.
Rebecca is free from the pains of oppression,
No friends could prevail with her longer to stay;
She smiles on the fields of eternal fruition,
Whilst death like a bridegroom attends her away.
She is gone in the whirlwind--ye seraphs attend her,
Through Jordan's cold torrent her mantle may lave;
She soars in the chariot, and earth falls beneath her,
Resign'd in a shroud to a peaceable grave.
poem by George Moses Horton
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Whilst standing he holds one opinion, whilst sitting another.
Insult or Compliment?
Thou art the merest popinjay.
A beardless boy not yet a man,
go to thou fool and go thy way.
Go quickly whilst thou still can.
Should my good husband take offence
then he would surely challenge thee.
I would not speak in thy defence
for thy pretensions annoy me.
I’m old enough to be thy dam
I don’t indulge in dalliance,
Methinks thy bravo is all sham.
Get hence, whilst thou still hath the chance.
The youth withdrew a chastened child.
When he had gone the lady smiled.
24-Dec-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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To The Gad-Fly
Majestic insect! from thy royal hum,
The flies retreat, or starve before they'll come;
The obedient plough-horse may, devoid of fear,
Perform his task with joy, when thou art near.
As at the Lion's dread alarming roar,
The inferior beasts will never wander more,
Lest unawares he should be seized away,
And to the prowling monster fall a prey.
With silent pleasure often do I trace
The fly upon the wing, with rapid pace,
The fugitive proclaims upon the wind,
The death-bound sheriff is not far behind.
Ye thirsty flies beware, nor dare approach,
Nor on the toiling animal encroach;
Be vigilant, before you buzz too late,
The victim of a melancholy fate.
Such seems the caution of the once chased fly,
Whilst to the horse she dare not venture nigh;
This useful Gad-Fly traversing the field,
with care the lab'ring animal to shield.
Such is the eye of Providential care,
Along the path of life forever there;
Whose guardian hand by day doth mortals keep
And gently lays them down at night to sleep.
Immortal Guard, shall I thy pleasures grieve
Like Noah's dove, wilt thou the creature leave,
No never, never, whilst on earth I stay.
And after death, then fly with me away.
poem by George Moses Horton
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In The Wake Of Poseidon
Platos spawn cold ivyed eyes
Snare truth in bone and globe.
Harlequins coin pointless games
Sneer jokes in parrots robe.
Two women weep, dame scarlet screen
Sheds sudden theatre rain,
Whilst dark in dream the midnight queen
Knows every human pain.
In air, fire, earth and water
World on the scales.
Air, fire, earth and water
Balance of change
World on the scales
On the scales.
Bishops kings spin judgements blade
Scratch faith on nameless graves.
Harvest hags hoard ash and sand
Rack rope and chain for slaves
Who fireside fear fermented words
Then rear to spoil the feast;
Whilst in the aisle the mad man smiles
To him it matters least.
Heroes hands drain stones for blood
To whet the scaling knife.
Magi blind with visions light
Net death in dread of life.
Their children kneel in jesus till
They learn the price of nail;
Whilst all around our mother earth
Waits balanced on the scales.
song performed by by King Crimson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Somewhere else
Time starts running thin,
Whilst fears grow within,
Under thickened skin,
We fear our ruin,
Things start looking grim,
As our problems brim,
for chances are slim,
When you're fate's victim,
Our world seems wretched,
When we're dejected,
Whilst ever haunted,
By our youth wasted,
We envy Alice,
Since she's not like us,
She finds way to bliss,
As we stress and cuss.
poem by Christian Lacdael
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The Streets Are Quiet Now
The streets are quiet now.
The wind is howling
Across the streets at night
Whilst children sleep at night.
The streetlights shine
Through the curtain sat night
And the sky so black you can see the stars.
Looking like diamonds
Shining bright in the night.
The streets are quiet now
How strange it seems at night
Now a sound to be heard till morning breaks
Outside at night
poem by Angela Fletcher
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