De Puero Et Praecone. Catul.
DE PUERO ET PRAECONE. CATUL.
Cum puero bello praeconem qui videt esse,
Quid credat, nisi se vendere discupere?
CATUL.
With a fair boy a cryer we behold,
What should we think, but he would not be sold?
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Related quotes
Quinti Catuli.
QUINTI CATULI.
Constiteram exorientem Auroram forte salutans,
Cum subito a laeva Roscius exoritur.
Pace mihi liceat, coelestes, dicere vestra.
Mortalis visu pulchrior esse deo.
Blanditur puero satyrus vultuque manuque;
Nolenti similis retrahit ora puer:
Quem non commoveat, quamvis de marmore? fundit
Pene preces satyrus, pene puer lachrymas.
ENGLISHED.
As once I bad good morning to the day,
O' th' sudden Roscius breaks in a bright ray:
Gods with your favour, I've presum'd to see
A mortal fairer then a deitie.
With looks and hands a satyre courts the boy,
Who draws back his unwilling cheek as coy.
Although of marble hewn, whom move not they?
The boy ev'n seems to weep, the satyre, pray.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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M. Pom-Pom
M. Pom-POM allait en guerre
Per vendere cannoni
Mon beau grand frère
Ne peut plus voir
Per vendere cannoni.
M. Pom-POM est au sénat
Per vendere cannoni
Pour vendre des canons
Pour vendre des canons
To sell the god damn'd frogs
A few more canon,
poem by Ezra Pound
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De Inconstantia Foeminei Amoris
CATUL. EP. 71.
DE INCONSTANTIA FOEMINEI AMORIS.
Nulli se dicit mulier mea nubere velle,
Quam mihi: non, si Jupiter ipse petat;
Dicit; sed mulier cupido quod dicit amanti,
In vento et rapida scribere oportet aqua.
FEMALE INCONSTANCY.
My mistresse sayes she'll marry none but me;
No, not if Jove himself a suitor be.
She sayes so; but what women say to kind
Lovers, we write in rapid streams and wind.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Ad M. T. Ciceronem. Catul Ep. 50.
AD M. T. CICERONEM.
CATUL EP. 50.
Disertissime Romuli nepotum,
Quot sunt, quotque fuere, Marce Tulli,
Quotque post alios erunt in annos,
Gratias tibi maximas Catullus
Agit, pessimus omnium poeta:
Tanto pessimus omnium poeta,
Quanto tu optimus omnium patronus.
TO MARCUS T. CICERO.
IN AN ENGLISH PENTASTICK.
Tully to thee, Rome's eloquent sole heir,
The best of all that are, shall be, and were,
I the worst poet send my best thanks and pray'r:
Ev'n by how much the worst of poets I,
By so much you the best of patrones be.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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All For A Friend!
I SOLD MY TENT TO BUY MY HOUSE!
I SOLD MY SANDALS TO BUY MY SHOE!
I SOLD MY HORSE TO BUY MY AUTOMOBILE!
I SOLD MY TROUBLES TO BUY MY PEACE!
BEHOLD! I WILL BE GLAD TO SELL THE CHURCHES AND BUY A TRUE FRIEND!
poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
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In Rufum. Catul. Ep. 64
IN RUFUM. CATUL. EP. 64.
Noli admirari, quare tibi foemina nulla,
Rufe, velit tenerum supposuisse femur;
Non ullam rarae labefactes munere vestis,
Aut pellucidulis deliciis lapidis.
Laedit te quaedam mala fabula, qua tibi fertur
Valle sub alarum trux habitare caper.
Hunc metuunt omnes, neque mirum: nam mala valde est
Bestia, nec quicum bela puella cubet.
Quare aut crudelem nasorum interfice pestem,
Aut admirari desine, cur fugiant.
TO RUFUS.
That no fair woman will, wonder not why,
Clap (Rufus) under thine her tender thigh;
Not a silk gown shall once melt one of them,
Nor the delights of a transparent gemme.
A scurvy story kills thee, which doth tell,
That in thine armpits a fierce goat doth dwell.
Him they all fear full of an ugly stench:
Nor 's 't fit he should lye with a handsome wench;
Wherefore this noses cursed plague first crush,
Or cease to wonder, why they fly you thus.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Who'll Buy Gods Of Love
OF all the beauteous wares
Exposed for sale at fairs,
None will give more delight
Than those that to your sight
From distant lands we bring.
Oh, hark to what we sing!
These beauteous birds behold,
They're brought here to be sold.
And first the big one see,
So full of roguish glee!
With light and merry bound
He leaps upon the ground;
Then springs up on the bougd,
We will not praise him now.
The merry bird behold,--
He's brought here to be sold.
And now the small one see!
A modest look has he,
And yet he's such apother
As his big roguish brother.
'Tis chiefly when all's still
He loves to show his will.
The bird so small and bold,--
He's brought here to be sold.
Observe this little love,
This darling turtle dove!
All maidens are so neat,
So civil, so discreet
Let them their charms set loose,
And turn your love to use;
The gentle bird behold,--
She's brought here to be sold.
Their praises we won't tell;
They'll stand inspection well.
They're fond of what is new,--
And yet, to show they're true,
Nor seal nor letter's wanted;
To all have wings been granted.
The pretty birds behold,--
Such beauties ne'er were sold!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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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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Partir, Pensar e Amar!
Partir para....
Pensar em......
Amar! ! ! Alguém!
Verbo poderoso esse;
não precisa de preposição.
Amar! Pronto.
Sem alguém, também pode.
Dizem que com alguém é melhor
Mas pode ser sozinho!
Ele cumpre bem o seu papel!
AMAR, só conjuga quando
Amar Alguém!
Não se pode amar aquilo, isso, esse......
Não se pode amar Meu, Teu, Nosso......
Só se pode AMAR Você! em Você, para Você
Aí pode!
Aí, combina!
Ciumento esse Verbo!
Mas tem também outro verbo.
Que vem logo após O AMAR!
Pensar!
Pensar requer.... algo, aquilo, no Meu, no Teu, no Nosso!
Tem também Pensar.... no Dos Outros!
Pensar tem todos os Quereres!
Nesse momento! Nessa conjugação!
O Amar já não suporta tanta preposição
Exigente esse verbo!
Então vem o
PARTIR!
Parto para longe de ti!
Porque começastes conjugando O Amar
e terminastes com O Pensar!
Doloroso esse verbo!
poem by Mirna Morgan
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Never Been Sold Before
You ask me, babe, "Can you work tonight?"
I've been up, babe, since broad daylight
I just can't believe that you're selling me,
You never sold me before
I just can't become your lousy who-o-ore
Yeah, I'm stacked nice, they really like my style
Fifty bucks, babe, ha, can't even buy my smile
I just can't believe that you're selling me,
You never sold me before
I just can't become your lousy who-o-ore
I-I-I-I find I come around just to lay this money on you, babe
I'm sick of streets, chicks and dicks, and I'm,
I'm really sick of you
Oh-oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had again
Oh-oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had a-gain
I just can't believe that you're selling me,
You never sold me befo-ore
I just can't become your little whore
No, no, no, no
Oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had again
Oh-oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had a-gain
Oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had again
Oh-oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had a-gain
Oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had again
Oh-oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had a-gain
Oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had again
Oh-oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had a-gain
Oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had again
Oh-oh, I've never been sold before
And I'll never be had a-gain
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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 Twilight Did/Sumrak jeste
I gave you the song
But you didn’t listen
I gave you the heart
But you didn’t beat
I gave you the bird
But you didn’t fly
I gave you
Of so little
And so much
Of what I had
But you didn’t take
The twilight did
Dadoh ti pjesmu
Ali ti je ne č u
Dadoh ti srce
Al kucao nisi
Nadoh ti pticu
Al letio nisi
Dadoh
Od onog malo
I onog mnogo
Što sam imala
Ali ti ne uze
Sumrak jeste
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Rubaiyat 19
You can buy everyone with gold;
Either in one shot, or slowly are sold.
Even the narcissus, pride of the world,
Sold itself, why, its crown of gold behold.
poem by Shams al-Din Hafiz
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Sold Me Out
I always knew that theyd get me somehow sooner or later,
But with a bullet in the head, a knife in the back,
Not a pocket calculator.
Sorry mister, youre all wiped up,
Youre all washed up,
Sold you out.
Got no dreams, got no ambition,
Cant decide, cause theres no decision,
Got no claim to any position,
Cant compete with the competition.
Youre always complaining,
Its so depressing,
But if youre old enough,
Start to confess it.
You say, you sold me out,
To get a better deal for yourself,
You sold me out,
And now we want some of your precious wealth,
Because you sold me out.
Sold me out,
Sold me out,
Sold me out.
You sold me out,
To get a better deal for yourself.
You sold me out,
And now its every man for himself.
Work all your life, put the money in the bank,
Sign on the dotted line.
Try to draw it out, the jokes on you,
Put up the empty sign.
Sorry mister, were all sold out.
Sold me out,
Sold me out,
Sold me out,
Sold me out.
You, Im talkin to you.
You sold me out,
To get a better deal for yourself.
You sold me out,
And now we want some of your precious wealth.
And sell you out,
Like you sold me out.
Are you in so deep, that you cant get out?
Got no dreams, got no ambition,
Cant decide, cause theres no decision,
Got no claim to any position,
Cant compete with the competition.
Sold me out,
Sold me out,
Sold me out,
Sold me out.
(repeat)
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sold My Soul
I prayed to God and jesus
But I guess they didnt hear
My sacrfice was useless
My pleas fell on deaf ears
So I cried in desperation
Bowed to evil sorcery
I looked to the lord in heaven
But he must have looked away
My crying eyes repentant
Please send her love to light my day
So I cried in desperation
Bowed to evil sorcery
I sold my soul
Sold my soul
I sold my soul to the devil
So I cried in desperation
Bowed to evil sorcery
I sold my soul
Sold my soul
I sold my soul to the devil
Sold my soul
Sold my soul
I sold my soul
Sold my soul
Sold my soul to the devil
To the devil
Sold my soul
Sold my soul
I sold my soul
I sold my soul
I sold my soul to the devil
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song IV: Draw Near and Behold Me
Love is enough: draw near and behold me
Ye who pass by the way to your rest and your laughter,
And are full of the hope of the dawn coming after;
For the strong of the world have bought me and sold me
And my house is all wasted from threshold to rafter.
--Pass by me, and hearken, and think of me not!
Cry out and come near; for my ears may not hearken,
And my eyes are grown dim as the eyes of the dying.
Is this the grey rack o'er the sun's face a-flying?
Or is it your faces his brightness that darken?
Comes a wind from the sea, or is it your sighing?
--Pass by me and hearken, and pity me not!
Ye know not how void is your hope and your living:
Depart with your helping lest yet ye undo me!
Ye know not that at nightfall she draweth near to me,
There is soft speech between us and words of forgiving
Till in dead of the midnight her kisses thrill through me.
--Pass by me and harken, and waken me not!
Wherewith will ye buy it, ye rich who behold me?
Draw out from your coffers your rest and your laughter,
And the fair gilded hope of the dawn coming after!
Nay this I sell not,--though ye bought me and sold me,--
For your house stored with such things from threshold to rafter.
--Pass by me, I hearken, and think of you not!
poem by William Morris
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Behold
I get it done
behold plenitude
focused
behold joy
behold greatness of god
behold wonderful life
behold charisma
behold
poem by Johnny Walks
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On the stage you develop a character that's different from yourself. In a film they're always saying: 'Walk over here. Say this line. Be you.'
quote by Jon Cryer
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Son Of Perdition
Behold the stars that shine above and on the beast newborn.
Behold the man who knows not love, just bitterness and scorn.
Behold the man of ill repute - his smiles that gleam and gleam.
Behold the man behind the suit - his hatred is extreme.
Behold the answers that he shares, his miracles and gifts.
Behold the economic scares and problems that he lifts.
Behold the dark tools of his trade, his sorceries and spells.
Behold the blasphemies displayed as if from poisoned wells.
Behold the leaders in his thrall, the slaves and armies, too.
Behold the devils at his call and what he made them do.
Behold the billions he controlled like puppets on their strings.
Behold the billions in his fold and kings his underlings.
Behold the horns upon his head to match his demon heart.
Behold the souls that he misled, the lives he tore apart.
Behold what God will send to Hell! Unsaved! No remission!
Behold what prophecies foretell... Lost son of perdition...
poem by Denis Martindale
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~ Aquatic n' Lunar Liaison ~
~ Aquatic n' Lunar Liaison ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK
13 March 2011
Moon smiles on waveletful ocean
In myriad nisi but surfeit oscillation
Fiancée's face in veritable vibration
Heart in rhapsodic constellations.
Aquatic n' Lunar liaison
Metaphorically in coalition
Solacing in blissful pavilion
Why in realm of obfuscation
Souse in fête fiancée unison.
~~~~~~
Glossary: With humility I'm giving what I tried to express
Nisi: Not final or absolute
Surfeit: The quality of being so overabundant
Obfuscation: Confusion resulting from failure to understand
Fête: An elaborate party [often outdoors]
===
Copyright reserved by author
poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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