The False Laurel And The True
'What art thou, Presumptuous, who profanest
The wreath to mighty poets only due,
Even whilst like a forgotten moon thou wanest?
Touch not those leaves which for the eternal few
Who wander o'er the Paradise of fame,
In sacred dedication ever grew:
One of the crowd thou art without a name.'
'Ah, friend, 'tis the false laurel that I wear;
Bright though it seem, it is not the same
As that which bound Milton’s immortal hair;
Its dew is poison; and the hopes that quicken
Under its chilling shade, though seeming fair,
Are flowers which die almost before they sicken.'
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Hast Thou Forgotten Me?
HAST thou forgotten me? the days are dark—
Light ebbs from heaven, and songless soars the lark—
Vexed like my heart, loud moans the unquiet sea—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten me? O dead delight
Whose dreams and memories torture me to-night—
O love—my life! O sweet—so fair to see—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten? Lo, if one should say—
Noontide were night, or night were flaming day—
Grief blinds mine eyes, I know not which it be!
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten? Ah, if Death should come,
Close my sad eyes, and charm my song-bird dumb—
Tired of strange woes—my fate were hailed with glee—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten me? What joy have I?
A dim blown bird beneath an alien sky,—
O that on mighty pinions I could flee—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten? Yea, Love’s horoscope
Is blurred with tears and suffering beyond Hope—
Ah, like dead leaves forsaken of the tree,
Thou hast forgotten me.
poem by Philip Joseph Holdsworth
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Presence
ALL things give token of thee!
As soon as the bright sun is shining,
Thou too wilt follow, I trust.
When in the garden thou walk'st,
Thou then art the rose of all roses,
Lily of lilies as well.
When thou dost move in the dance,
Then each constellation moves also;
With thee and round thee they move.
Night! oh, what bliss were the night!
For then thou o'ershadow'st the lustre,
Dazzling and fair, of the moon.
Dazzling and beauteous art thou,
And flowers, and moon, and the planets
Homage pay, Sun, but to thee.
Sun! to me also be thou
Creator of days bright and glorious;
Life and Eternity this!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Sonnet 18
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
poem by William Shakespeare from Sonnets (1609)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Tanzweise
'Lady,' I said, 'this garland wear!
For thou wilt wear it gracefully;
And on thy brow 'twill sit so fair,
And thou wilt dance so light and free;
Had I a thousand gems, on thee,
Fair one! their brilliant light should shine:
Would'st thou such a gift accept from me,--
O doubt me not,-- it should be thine.
'Lady, so beautiful thou art,
That I on thee the wreath bestow,
'Tis the best gift I can impart;
But whiter, rosier flowers, I know,
Upon the distant plain they're springing,
Where beauteously their heads they rear,
And birds their sweetest songs are singing:
Come! let us go and pluck them there!'
She took the beauteous wreath I chose,
And, like a child at praises glowing,
Her cheeks blushed crimson as the rose
When by the snow-white lily growing:
But all from those bright eyes eclipse
Received; and then, my toil to pay,
Kind, precious words fell from her lips:
What more than this I shall not say.
poem by Walther von der Vogelweide
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The Transfiguration
Immortal clothing I put on
So soon as, Julia, I am gone
To mine eternal mansion.
Thou, thou art here, to human sight
Clothed all with incorrupted light;
--But yet how more admir'dly bright
Wilt thou appear, when thou art set
In thy refulgent thronelet,
That shin'st thus in thy counterfeit!
poem by Robert Herrick
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To a poet's wife
She, who in lonely pride may wear
The laurel on her brow,
And sit beneath its chilling shade,
Is far less blest than thou.
A higher happiness is thine,
To hear the voice of Fame
Re-echo in her silver tones,
The one beloved name.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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My Light Thou Art
My light thou art, without thy glorious sight
My eyes are darkened with eternal night;
My Love, thou art my way, my life, my light.
Thou art my way, I wander if thou fly;
Thou art my light, if hid, how blind am I!
Thou art my life, if thou withdraw'st I die.
Thou art my life; if thou but turn away,
My life's a thousand deaths. Thou art my way;
Without thee, Love, I travel not, but stray.
poem by Lord John Wilmot
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Sonnet XIX. To Mr. Haley,
On receiving some elegant lines from him.
FOR me the Muse a simple band design'd
Of 'idle' flowers that bloom the woods among,
Which, with the cypress and the willow join'd,
A garland form'd as artless as my song.
And little dared I hope its transient hours
So long would last; composed of buds so brief;
Till Hayley's hand among the vagrant flowers,
Threw from his verdant crown a deathless leaf.
For high in Fame's bright fane has Judgment placed
The laurel wreath Serena's poet won,
Which, woven with myrtles by the hands of Taste,
The Muse decreed for this her favourite son.
And those immortal leaves his temples shade,
Whose fair, eternal verdure--shall not fade!
poem by Charlotte Smith
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I Was Not False To Thee
I WAS not false to thee, and yet
My cheek alone looked pale;
My weary eye was dim and wet,
My strength began to fail.
Thou wert the same; thy looks were gay,
Thy step was light and free;
And yet, with truth, my heart can say,
I was not false to thee!
I was not false to thee, yet now
Thou hast a cheerful eye,
With flushing cheek and drooping brow
I wander mournfully.
I hate to meet the gaze of men,
I weep where none can see;
Why do I only suffer, when
I was not false to thee?
I was not false to thee; yet oh!
How scornfully they smile,
Who see me droop, who guess my woe,
Yet court thee all the while.
'Tis strange! but when long years are past,
Thou wilt remember me;
Whilst I can feel until the last,
I was not false to thee!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Love Me Not 06
Love me not as thou would love the moon and stars
Love me not as thou would love an immortal godess
Love me as thou would love a mystery, a shadow
Love me as thou would love a secret, a rose
Love me not to die for me
Love me not as thine own
Love me as thou loves life, as the beautiful unknown
Love me as I am with out question, with out sorrow
Love me not as thou would love the moon and stars
Love me not as an immortal goddess
Love me as thou would love a secret, a shadow
Love me more as each layer, each petal unfolds
poem by Kira Bloom
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To His Mistress
Why dost thou shade thy lovely face? O why
Does that eclipsing hand of thine deny
The sunshine of the Sun's enlivening eye?
Without thy light what light remains in me?
Thou art my life; my way, my light's in thee;
I live, I move, and by thy beams I see.
Thou art my life-if thou but turn away
My life's a thousand deaths. Thou art my way-
Without.thee, Love, I travel not but stray.
My light thou art-without thy glorious sight
My eyes are darken'd with eternal night.
My Love, thou art my way, my life, my light.
Thou art my way; I wander if thou fly.
Thou art my light; if hid, how blind am I!
Thou art my life; if thou withdraw'st, I die.
My eyes are dark and blind, I cannot see:
To whom or whither should my darkness flee,
But to that light?-and who's that light but thee?
If I have lost my path, dear lover, say,
Shall I still wander in a doubtful way?
Love, shall a lamb of Israel's sheepfold stray?
My path is lost, my wandering steps do stray;
I cannot go, nor can I safely stay;
Whom should I seek but thee, my path, my way?
And yet thou turn'st thy face away and fly'st me!
And yet I sue for grace and thou deny'st me!
Speak, art thou angry, Love, or only try'st me?
Thou art the pilgrim's path, the blind man's eye,
The dead man's life. On thee my hopes rely:
If I but them remove, I surely die.
Dissolve thy sunbeams, close thy wings and stay!
See, see how I am blind, and dead, and stray!
-O thou art my life, my light, my way!
Then work thy will! If passion bid me flee,
My reason shall obey, my wings shall be
Stretch'd out no farther than from me to thee!
poem by Lord John Wilmot
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What Would Shakespeare's Beloved Say?
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Please do and let me have my say.
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
First time I hear this and tend to believe it
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
Your words do shake my heart a lot today.
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
I wish I could say something as great.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
How nice the words, how lovely the signs!
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
I wish these nice words were untrimmed.
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
And when we die our memories will be shrines.
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
How bright the day how beautiful and undimmed!
But thy eternal summer shall not fade.
For in your poetry I will be remade?
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st.
I'm happy to play your temperate host.
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
But we will die and our bodies fade.
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st.
I will die and be covered with too much dust.
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long my poet, because I shall not be
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
So long again, for thou will soon forget me.
poem by Omar Jabak
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To John Milton
_'From his honoured friend, William Davenant'_
Poet of mighty power, I fain
Would court the muse that honoured thee,
And, like Elisha's spirit, gain
A part of thy intensity;
And share the mantle which she flung
Around thee, when thy lyre was strung.
Though faction's scorn at first did shun
With coldness thy inspired song,
Though clouds of malice passed thy sun,
They could not hide it long;
Its brightness soon exhaled away
Dank night, and gained eternal day.
The critics' wrath did darkly frown
Upon thy muse's mighty lay;
But blasts that break the blossom down
Do only stir the bay;
And thine shall flourish, green and long,
With the eternity of song.
Thy genius saw, in quiet mood,
Gilt fashion's follies pass thee by,
And, like the monarch of the wood,
Towered oer it to the sky,
Where thou couldst sing of other spheres,
And feel the fame of future years.
Though bitter sneers and stinging scorns
Did throng the muse's dangerous way,
Thy powers were past such little thorns,
They gave thee no dismay;
The scoffer's insult passed thee by,
Thou smild'st and mad'st him no reply.
Envy will gnaw its heart away
To see thy genius gather root;
And as its flowers their sweets display
Scorn's malice shall be mute;
Hornets that summer warmed to fly,
Shall at the death of summer die.
Though friendly praise hath but its hour.
And little praise with thee hath been;
The bay may lose its summer flower,
But still its leaves are green;
And thine, whose buds are on the shoot,
Shall only fade to change to fruit.
Fame lives not in the breath of words,
In public praises' hue and cry;
The music of these summer birds
Is silent in a winter sky,
When thine shall live and flourish on,
Oer wrecks where crowds of fames are gone.
The ivy shuns the city wall,
When busy clamorous crowds intrude,
And climbs the desolated hall
In silent solitude;
The time-worn arch, the fallen dome,
Are roots for its eternal home.
The bard his glory neer receives
Where summer's common flowers are seen,
But winter finds it when she leaves
The laurel only green;
And time from that eternal tree,
Shall weave a wreath to honour thee;
A sunny wreath for poets meet,
From Helicon's immortal soil,
Where sacred Time with pilgrim feet
Walks forth to worship, not to spoil,
A wreath which Fame creates and bears,
And deathless genius only heirs.
Nought but thy ashes shall expire;
Thy genius, at thy obsequies,
Shall kindle up its living fire
And light the muse's skies;
Ay, it shall rise, and shine, and be
A sun in song's posterity.
poem by John Clare
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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? (Sonnet 18)
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Sonnet 18: Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Alain’s Choice
By the side of a silvery streamlet,
That flowed through meadows green,
Lay a youth on the verge of manhood
And a boy of fair sixteen;
And the elder spake of the future,
That bright before them lay,
With its hopes full of golden promise
For some sure, distant day.
And he vowed, as his dark eye kindled,
He would climb the heights of fame,
And conquer with mind or weapon
A proud, undying name.
On the darling theme long dwelling
Bright fabrics did he build,
Which the hope in his ardent bosom
With splendor helped to gild.
At length he paused, then questioned:
“Brother, thou dost not speak;
In the vague bright page of the future
To read dost thou never seek?”
Then the other smiled and answered,
“Of that am I thinking now,
And the crown which I too am striving
To win my ambitious brow.”
“What!—a crown? Thou hast spirit, brother;
Say, of laurels will it be?
Thy choice, the life of a soldier,
Undaunted—joyous—free.
Though by wind and sun undarkened
Is thy blooming, boyish face,
To thy choice thou’lt do all honor,
For ’tis worthy of thy race!
“Am I wrong? Well, ’tis more likely,
With thy love of ancient lore,
Thou would’st choose the scholar’s garland,
Not laurels wet with gore;
I’ll not chide—’tis surely noble,
By mere simple might of pen,
To rule with master power
The minds of thy fellow-men.”
But still shook his head the younger:
“What! unguessed thy secret yet?
Ha! I know now what thou seekest
To deck thy curls of jet:
Bright buds!” and he, laughing, scattered
Blossoms on brow and cheek,
“Pleasure’s wreath of smiting flowers
Is the crown that thou dost seek.”
“Not so—of all, that were vainest!
’Tis a crown immortal—rare—
Here on earth I must strive to win it,
But, brother, I’ll wear it there!”
And he raised to the blue sky o’er him
Eyes filled with tender thought,—
Who shall doubt that to him was given
The glorious crown he sought?
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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Hell Yeah
Alright now boys and girls we've got another story for you now!
We want to introduce to you another friend of the Bible!
Hell yeah
Hell yeah
Hell yeah
Hell yeah
If I were God there would be no explicit sex on T.V.
Like little Opie eating pie when he made it with Aunt Bea
If I were God thou shall not worship false Billy Idols
And thou shall add the Book Of Flavor Flav to the Bible
Thou shall make fun of Hindus thou shall not make a "Speed 2"
If I were God that's what I'd do Heavens no
Hell yeah
Hell yeah
Hell yeah
Hell yeah
If I were God I'd get a bunch of slaves to do everything
Norwegian lesbians that feed me grapes and know how to sing
If I were God thou shall not wear tube socks with Flip-Flops
Thou shall sit and thou shall spin thou shall even wife swap
Thou shall resist the Olsen Twins
song performed by by Bloodhound Gang from Hooray For Boobies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Sonnet XLIII: Thou Canst Not Die
Thou canst not die whilst any zeal abound
In feeling hearts that can conceive these lines;
Though thou a Laura hast no Petrarch found,
In base attire, yet clearly Beauty shines.
And I, though born in a colder clime,
Do feel mine inward heat as great, I know it;
He never had more faith, although more rhyme;
I love as well, though he could better show it.
But I may add one feather to thy fame
To help her flight throughout the fairest isle,
And if my pen could more enlarge thy name,
Then shouldst thou live in an immortal style.
But though that Laura better limned be,
Suffice, thou shalt be lov'd as well as she.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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When Poor In All But Hope And Love
WHEN, poor in all but hope and love,
I clasped thee to my faithful heart;
For wealth and fame I vowed to rove,
That we might meet no more to part!
Years have gone by-long weary years
Of toil, to win thee comfort now-
Of ardent hopes-of sickening fears-
And wealth is mine-but where art thou?
Fame's dazzling dreams, for thy dear sake,
Rose brighter than before to me;
I clung to all I deemed could make
My burning heart more worthy thee.
Years have gone by-the laurel droops
In mockery o'er my joyless brow :
A conquered world before me stoops,
And Fame is mine-but where art thou?
In life's first hours, despised and lone,
I wandered through the busy crowd;
But now that life's best hopes are gone,
They greet with pride and murmurs loud.
Oh! for thy voice! thy happy voice,
To breathe its laughing welcome now;
Wealth, fame, and all that should rejoice,
To me are vain-for where art thou?
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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