Ad Quintium. Cat. Ep. 83
AD QUINTIUM. CAT. EP. 83.
Quinti, si tibi vis oculos debere Catullum,
Aut aliud si quid carius est oculis,
Eripere ei noli, multo quod carius illi
Est oculis, seu quid carius est oculis.
TO QUINTIUS.
Quintius, if you'l endear Catullus eyes,
Or what he dearer then his eyes doth prize,
Ravish not what is dearer then his eyes,
Or what he dearer then his eyes doth prize.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Translated
Facundis dedit ille notis, interprete plumas
Insinuare sonos oculis, & pingere voces,
Et mentem chartis, oculis impertiit aurem.
poem by Andrew Marvell
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Ausonius
AUSONIUS.
Vane, quid affectas faciem mihi ponere, pictor,
Ignotamque oculis solicitare manu?
Aeris et venti sum filia, mater inanis
Indicii, vocemque sine mente gero.
Auribus in vestris habito penetrabilis echo;
Si mihi vis similem pingere, pinge sonos.
IN ENGLISH.
Vain painter, why dost strive my face to draw
With busy hands? a goddesse eyes nere saw.
Daughter of air and wind, I do rejoyce
In empty shouts; (without a mind) a voice.
Within your ears shrill echo I rebound,
And, if you'l paint me like, then paint a sound.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Ah, dearer than my soul. Dearer than light, or life, or fame.
quote by John Oldham
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet XXI
WAs it the worke of nature or of Art?
which tempred so the feature of her face:
that pride and meeknesse mixt by equall part,
doe both appeare t'adorne her beauties grace.
For with mild pleasance, which doth pride displace,
she to her loues doth lookers eyes allure:
& with sterne countenance back again doth chace
their looser lookes that stir vp lustes impure,
With such strange termes her eyes she doth inure,
that with one looke she doth my life dismay:
and with another doth it streight recure,
her smile me drawes, her frowne me driues away.
Thus doth she traine and teach me with her lookes,
such art of eyes I neuer read in bookes.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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To Love
If, Cupid, Heaven is your home, you
are the child of Venus, Nectar and
Ambrosia are your food, then why
do you spend days and nights with
me? Why burn me with your flame,
and quench my thirst with tears?
Why destroy me? You are indeed
descended from wild beasts. Are you
worthy of such descent and of
heaven? But I, I am merely
a shadow, why do you torture me?
Ad amorem.
Si coelum patria est puer beatum,
Si vero peperit VENUS benigna,
Si Nectar tibi Massicum ministrat;
Si sancta Ambrosia est cibus petitus,
Quid noctes habitas, diesque mecum?
Quid victum face supplicemque aduris?
Quid longam lachrimis sitim repellis?
Quid nostrae dape pasceris medullae?
O vere rabidum genus faerarum:
O domo stipe patriaque digne:
Jam levis sumus umbra, quid lacessis?
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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The Value of The Cost
A gift gets less value than it’s worth.
A prize gets more value than it’s worth.
A beggar’s penny is far dearer.
A love look of a woman valueless.
Value differs from the cost
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Another (II)
As loving hind that (hartless) wants her deer,
Scuds through the woods and fern with hark'ning ear,
Perplext, in every bush and nook doth pry,
Her dearest deer, might answer ear or eye;
So doth my anxious soul, which now doth miss
A dearer dear (far dearer heart) than this.
Still wait with doubts, and hopes, and failing eye,
His voice to hear or person to descry.
Or as the pensive dove doth all alone
(On withered bough) most uncouthly bemoan
The absence of her love and loving mate,
Whose loss hath made her so unfortunate,
Ev'n thus do I, with many a deep sad groan,
Bewail my turtle true, who now is gone,
His presence and his safe return still woos,
With thousand doleful sighs and mournful coos.
Or as the loving mullet, that true fish,
Her fellow lost, nor joy nor life do wish,
But launches on that shore, there for to die,
Where she her captive husband doth espy.
Mine being gone, I lead a joyless life,
I have a loving peer, yet seem no wife;
But worst of all, to him can't steer my course,
I here, he there, alas, both kept by force.
Return my dear, my joy, my only love,
Unto thy hind, thy mullet, and thy dove,
Who neither joys in pasture, house, nor streams,
The substance gone, O me, these are but dreams.
Together at one tree, oh let us browse,
And like two turtles roost within one house,
And like the mullets in one river glide,
Let's still remain but one, till death divide.
Thy loving love and dearest dear,
At home, abroad, and everywhere
poem by Anne Bradstreet
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Bonie Dundee
My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie!
My blessin's upon thy e'e-brie!
Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie,
Thou's aye the dearer, and dearer to me!
But I'll big a bow'r on yon bonie banks,
Whare Tay rins wimplin' by sae clear;
An' I'll cleed thee in the tartan sae fine,
And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Wilt Thou Take Me For Thy Slave?
Wilt thou take me for thy slave,
With my folly and my love?
Wilt thou take me for the bondsman of thy pride?
Thou who dearer art to me than all the world beside;
For I love thee as no other man can love.
Wilt thou take me to thy soul,
For the truth which thou shalt prove?
Wilt thou clothe me with the riches of thy care?
Thou who dearer art to me than gold and jewels rare;
For I love thee as no other man can love.
Wilt thou take me for thy king,
While the sun and stars shall move?
Wilt thou pay me back the homage I have given?
Oh thou dearer unto me than sun and stars and heaven!
For I love thee as no other man can love.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The Quids
The little quids, the million quids,
The everywhere, everything, always quids,
The atoms of the Monoton—
Each turned three essences where it stood
And ground a gisty dust from its neighbors' edges
Until a powdery thoughtfall stormed in and out,
The cerebration of a slippery quid enterprise.
Each quid stirred.
The united quids
Waved through a sinuous decision.
The quids, that had never done anything before
But be, be, be, be, be,
The quids resolved to predicate
And dissipate in a little grammar.
Oh, the Monoton didn't care,
For whatever they did—
The Monoton's contributing quids—
The Monoton would always remain the same.
A quid here and there gyrated in place-position,
While many essential quids turned inside-out
For the fun of it
And a few refused to be anything but
Simple, unpredicated copulatives.
Little by little, this commotion of quids,
By threes, by tens, by casual millions,
Squirming within the state of things—
The metaphysical acrobats,
The naked, immaterial quids—
Turned inside on themselves
And came out dressed,
Each similar quid of the inward same,
Each similar quid dressed in a different way—
The quid's idea of a holiday.
The quids could never tell what was happening.
But the Monoton felt itself differently the same
In its different parts.
The silly quids upon their rambling exercise
Never knew, could never tell
What their pleasure was about,
What their carnival was like,
Being in, being in, being always in
Where they never could get out
Of the everywhere, everything, always in,
To derive themselves from the Monoton.
But I know, with a quid inside of me,
But I know what a quid's disguise is like,
Being one myself,
The gymnastic device
That a quid puts on for exercise.
And so should the trees,
And so should the worms,
And so should you,
And all the other predicates,
And all the other accessories
Of the quid's masquerade.
poem by Laura Riding
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Sonnet 43: Fair Eyes, Sweet Lips
Fair eyes, sweet lips, dear heart, that foolish I
Could hope by Cupid's help on you to prey;
Since to himself he doth your gifts apply,
As his main force, choice sport, and easeful stay.
For when he will see who dare him gainsay,
Then with those eyes he looks, lo by and by
Each soul doth at Love's feet his weapons lay,
Glad if for her he give them leave to die.
When he will play, then in her lips he is,
Where blushing red, that Love's self them doth love,
With either lip he doth the other kiss:
But when he will for quiet's sake remove
From all the world, her heart is then his room
Where well he knows, no man to him can come.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Nearer to Me Than A Moontide Swoon
Nearer to me than a moontide swoon,
And dearer to me than a dream.
She is fairer to me than a spring's full bloom;
Nearer to me than a moontide swoon.
The winds of dark winter may howl soon
And still could not chill her bright sunny beam;
Nearer to me than a moontide swoon,
And dearer to me than a dream.
-2005
poem by David Zvekic
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Each pebble wants to ripple
The world classics had been out of print.
Award winning works went out of shelf.
Nobel Prize literatures are pigeon holed.
Yet sprout umpteen works, though petty
As each pebble make a ripple in chain.
A creation of the known is
Dearer than any other master creation.
08.01.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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To My Mom
Because I feel that, in the Heavens above,
The angels, whispering to one another,
Can find, among their burning terms of love,
None so devotional as that of 'Mother, '
Therefore by that dear name I long have called you-
You who are more than mother unto me,
And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you
In setting my Virginia's spirit free.
My mother- my own mother, who died early,
Was but the mother of myself; but you
Are mother to the one I loved so dearly,
And thus are dearer than the mother I knew
By that infinity with which my wife
Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.
poem by Ricky Baker
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Forevermore
The fog rolled in
while the night was young.
There your eyes to me
spoke in words silently.
And my heart felt
both your love and the mist.
The fog lifted
and when we kissed
I saw things clearer
than ever before.
I felt love dearer
than ever before.
And all those sights
before the fog
were gone for me
forevermore.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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To My Mother
Because I feel that, in the Heavens above,
The angels, whispering to one another,
Can find, among their burning terms of love,
None so devotional as that of "Mother,"
Therefore by that dear name I long have called you-
You who are more than mother unto me,
And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you
In setting my Virginia's spirit free.
My mother- my own mother, who died early,
Was but the mother of myself; but you
Are mother to the one I loved so dearly,
And thus are dearer than the mother I knew
By that infinity with which my wife
Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.
poem by Edgar Allan Poe
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Know Your Dreams
Claim you will not maim,
Those goals you have named to achieve.
No matter if your shoulders hold a heavy load...
Keep your motor fueled.
Don't be fooled by losers.
Wishing to melt away your 'cool'.
Keep that heat you've got,
Turned up and piping hot!
Don't let that boat you row spring a leak.
Or be stopped by a rocking that shocks...
Your eyes,
Away from the prize.
Keep alive,
Those dreams not meant to idle.
Claim,
You will not maim...
Those goals you have named to achieve,
Accomplish and to realize.
Keep alive your eyes and kept on the prize.
Know your dreams,
Are not meant just to idle.
Keep that heat you've got,
Turned up and piping hot!
And know your dreams,
Are not meant just to idle.
Keep alive your eyes and kept on the prize.
Know your dreams,
Can be achieved and realized.
Keep that heat you've got,
Turned up and piping hot!
And know your dreams,
Are not meant just to idle.
Keep alive your eyes and kept on the prize.
Know your dreams,
Can be achieved and realized.
They're not just yours,
To sit around and idle.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Wonder I Now See
I do felicitously ponder our life's sequel;
As your's is a beauty truly without equal,
The brightest stars pale when comparison is made:
Their grandeur and brilliance doth seem to fade!
Yet, all too doth seem still more beauteous,
To thee and thine own grace, I remain duteous:
To consort with thee, all, I would proffer
For its guard, abiding, in my heart, I would coffer!
The ordinary is made to inspire awe,
The imperfect, now seen without flaw-
The unsightly, now seen with new eyes:
That not noticed before, I now prize!
All owed to thee, the wonder I now see,
That thought unattainable, may now be!
Maurice Harris,24 August 2009
poem by Maurice Harris
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I Will
I will
Lay me down
In a bunker
Underground
I won't let this happen to my children
Meet the real world coming out of your shell
With white elephants
Sitting ducks
I will
rise up
Little babies eyes eyes eyes eyes
Little babies eyes eyes eyes eyes
Little babies eyes eyes eyes eyes
Little babies eyes eyes eyes
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eyes
Eyes are blue
Eyes are green
Eyes are true
Eyes are mean
Eyes are bright
Give the light
Eyes are black
Like the night
Eyes are cold
Eyes are warm
Eyes are angry
Like a storm
Eyes are kind
Eyes are blind
Eyes are evil
Eyes of devil
Eyes are hungry
Eyes of walls
Eyes are empty
Eyes of dolls
Eyes are loving
Eyes are charming
Eyes are lying
Truth denying
Eyes are haughty
Eyes are naughty
Eyes are naïve
To all they believe
Eyes are strained
A fear remained
Eyes without hope
Ready for the rope
Eyes are vulnerable
Eyes that gamble
Eyes are sensitive
Eyes are attentive
Eyes are stubborn
Eyes are submissive
Eyes of a new born
Eyes are pensive
Loving eyes are true
Black, brown or blue
My eyes are green
A lot they have seen
©Larisa Rzhepishevska
January 11th,2011
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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