Strive Not, Vain Lover
I.
Strive not, vain lover, to be fine;
Thy silk's the silk-worm's, and not thine:
You lessen to a fly your mistriss' thought,
To think it may be in a cobweb caught.
What, though her thin transparent lawn
Thy heart in a strong net hath drawn:
Not all the arms the god of fire ere made
Can the soft bulwarks of nak'd love invade.
II.
Be truly fine, then, and yourself dress
In her fair soul's immac'late glass.
Then by reflection you may have the bliss
Perhaps to see what a true fineness is;
When all your gawderies will fit
Those only that are poor in wit.
She that a clinquant outside doth adore,
Dotes on a gilded statue and no more.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Related quotes
Song
I.
Strive not, vain lover, to be fine;
Thy silk's the silk-worm's, and not thine:
You lessen to a fly your mistriss' thought,
To think it may be in a cobweb caught.
What, though her thin transparent lawn
Thy heart in a strong net hath drawn:
Not all the arms the god of fire ere made
Can the soft bulwarks of nak'd love invade.
II.
Be truly fine, then, and yourself dress
In her fair soul's immac'late glass.
Then by reflection you may have the bliss
Perhaps to see what a true fineness is;
When all your gawderies will fit
Those only that are poor in wit.
She that a clinquant outside doth adore,
Dotes on a gilded statue and no more.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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To Miss---,
{On her giving the author a gold and silk
net-work purse of her own weaving}.
Though gold and silk their charms unite
To make thy curious web delight,
In vain the varied work would shine,
If wrought by any hand but thine;
Thy hand that knows the subtler art,
To weave those nets that catch the heart.
Spread out by me the roving coin,
Thy nets may catch, but not confine;
Nor can I hope thy silken chain
The glittering vagrants shall restrain.
Why, Stella, was it then decreed
The heart once caught should ne'er be freed.
poem by Samuel Johnson
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Spider Silk
Its lining is that of silk,
Like a from a spider,
For it their spiders are webbing
To determine for the workers to liven their salary.
To test an exam for the student,
Who lightens the silk for the dress he was given
By the tailor.
He exchanged the silk of a spider for its spit.
Spit has venom.
Student is dead from silk.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Skirt
Hallo Germaine that's a fine skirt you have
A fine skirt for a queen A cruel queen
Let's feel the silk of it Silk from Japan
And trimmed with wide lace made on no machine
Your skirt's a silken bell whose double clapper
Your legs have struck the passing of my fancies
O Germaine now I ring it my breast heaving
My hands press down upon your willing haunches
Your bedroom O my bell is a fine belfry
My hands touch silk and seem to tear my ears
Those pegs are gallows on which skirts are hanging
Those hanging men are dazzling my eyes
Motionless as an owl the oil lamp watches
poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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The Painter on Silk
There was a man
Who made his living
By painting roses
Upon silk.
He sat in an upper chamber
And painted,
And the noises of the street
Meant nothing to him.
When he heard bugles, and fifes, and drums,
He thought of red, and yellow, and white roses
Bursting in the sunshine,
And smiled as he worked.
He thought only of roses,
And silk.
When he could get no more silk
He stopped painting
And only thought
Of roses.
The day the conquerors
Entered the city,
The old man
Lay dying.
He heard the bugles and drums,
And wished he could paint the roses
Bursting into sound.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Silk
Passionate touches
Chocolate kisses
Silk perfection
My body and soul on fire
My eyes glow incandescence
My mind and body sway and rock
You slip into my world
Breathing heavy and high
Fly
Bold and black connections
Silk and creamy perfections
Still life
Real love
Here we go
Lets ride
Lets dance
Lets play
Silk romance
You are my…
You are my…
You are mines
Worth more than all wealth
Greater than any king
Finally the real thing
Silk love
My skin
Milk chocolate
Your skin
Caramel
And we swirl and blend
How does it feel?
Silk feelings never end
His scent
My fragrance
Honeysuckle and milk
His power, my vulnerability
my push, his stroke, our affection…..silk…perfection.
poem by Danielle Beechum
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The best way to make a silk purse from a sow's ear is to begin with a silk sow. The same is true of money.
quote by Norman Ralph Augustine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Rings Under a Bloody Rug
My perspectives lessen with the very ballrooms I've crept in,
The swaying dancers that waltz along the quilted beige silk,
In each hand is a sweat that remembers a bet,
This bet that lingers under their dancing quartet,
This bet may have been forgotten between a ode to regret,
A ring here, a thought there, a check nearest to chess,
Consider it done, their favorite pronunciation towards lies,
So pack up, dim the lights, watch them leave the room softly,
Because they are read... ready... envious to die
poem by by unknown author
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Repetition
Johnny is a man
And hes bigger than you
But his overheads are high
And he looks straight through when you ask him how the kids are
Hell get home around seven
cause the chevys real old
And he could have had a cadillac
If the school had taught him right
And he could have married anne with the blue silk
Blouse
He could have married anne with the blue silk blouse
And the food is on the table
But the food is cold
Dont hit her
Cant you even cook?
Whats the good of me working when you cant damn cook?
Well johnny is a man
And hes bigger than her
I guess the bruises wont show
If she wears long sleeves
But the space in her eyes shows through
And he could have married anne with the blue silk blouse
He could have married anne with the blue silk blouse
Shows through
Shows through
Shows through
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cobweb
A few minutes ago, I stepped onto the deck
of the house. From there I could see and hear the water,
and everything that's happened to me all these years.
It was hot and still. The tide was out.
No birds sang. As I leaned against the railing
a cobweb touched my forehead.
It caught in my hair. No one can blame me that I turned
and went inside. There was no wind. The sea
was dead calm. I hung the cobweb from the lampshade.
Where I watch it shudder now and then when my breath
touches it. A fine thread. Intricate.
Before long, before anyone realizes,
I'll be gone from here.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Raymond Clevie Carver
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Spider web
There’s a spider web
of which parts got on your hair
and you are alarmed by it
and I take fine silk from your hair
while you look big eyed at me
and your lips are open
as if you are gasping for breath.
The wind blows a branch
whipping up and down,
but it’s unnoticed
by us both.
Your eyes are caught by the spider web
on which two spiders
are rocking in the wind
and I am caught,
with the look in your golden eyes
and your open lips that are inviting
and a small leave hanging on your cheek.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Stories My Mother Told Me
Did I know
the ladies
cocooned the worm
between their breasts
for so many days
keeping the little blighter warm
and as the caterpillar
grew big and strong
it was placed
in a box
with Mulberry leaves
where it spun its magic
and silk was born.
poem by Vince Gullaci
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf XV. -- A Little Bird In The Air
A little bird in the air
Is singing of Thyri the fair,
The sister of Svend the Dane;
And the song of the garrulous bird
In the streets of the town is heard,
And repeated again and again.
Hoist up your sails of silk,
And flee away from each other.
To King Burislaf, it is said,
Was the beautiful Thyri wed,
And a sorrowful bride went she;
And after a week and a day,
She has fled away and away,
From his town by the stormy sea.
Hoist up your sails of silk,
And flee away from each other.
They say, that through heat and through cold,
Through weald, they say, and through wold,
By day and by night, they say,
She has fled; and the gossips report
She has come to King Olaf's court,
And the town is all in dismay.
Hoist up your sails of silk,
And flee away from each other.
It is whispered King Olaf has seen,
Has talked with the beautiful Queen;
And they wonder how it will end;
For surely, if here she remain,
It is war with King Svend the Dane,
And King Burislaf the Vend!
Hoist up your sails of silk,
And flee away from each other.
Oh, greatest wonder of all!
It is published in hamlet and hall,
It roars like a flame that is fanned!
The King--yes, Olaf the King--
Has wedded her with his ring,
And Thyri is Queen in the land!
Hoist up your sails of silk,
And flee away from each other.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Fallen Saved
Waning repentance bought by purple merchants
Moons that grovel before your painted eyes
The sea still innocent
You are my sins my love
You are the unmasked whip
Sometimes I hate that I am so weak
I want to have sex with you every minute
When I am honest you are a vampire
Is my soul lost?
No! I am the fallen lover
Vultures are waiting
My bed is a pedicure
Searching for a heaven of flesh
Do you see the fire burning love
Making you into a brothel
Part of every woman is a stripper
Your weakness loves my desire
You feed the wolves
Your wet silk stockings
Your high heel marks
Yes, you lounge in heels
She walks in the castle of vampires
My altar is dark with black silk
Garter belts light candles
I have my ideals
I believe in God
Romance to me is silver stilettos
It is too late for change
You are tempest
You are my weakness
Help me go to heaven
Corsets and church
Wet dripping salvation
My mate is a Goddess of moonlight
I am waiting for the night
I will be faithful my princess of silk
The fallen saved with a prayer book
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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The Beacon
The silent shepherdess,
She of my vows,
Here with me exchanging love
Under dim boughs.
Shines on our mysteries
A sudden spark--
'Dout the candle, glow-worm,
Let all be dark.
'The birds have sung their last notes,
The Sun's to bed,
Glow-worm, dout your candle.'
The glow-worm said:
'I also am a lover;
The lamp I display
Is beacon for my true love
Wandering astray.
'Through the thick bushes
And the grass comes she
With a heartload of longing
And love for me.
'Sir, enjoy your fancy,
But spare me harm,
A lover is a lover,
Though but a worm.'
poem by Robert Graves
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The Flowering Orchard
Silk Embroidery.
Lo silken my garden,
and silken my sky,
And silken my apple-boughs
hanging on high;
All wrought by the Worm
in the peasant carle’s cot
On the Mulberry leafage
when summer was hot!
poem by William Morris
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A Thin Curtain Of Gray Silk
between this and that
there is a thin curtain of gray silk
that serves as a divider
between this despair and
that bliss
it is not your hand that
sets it aside
not your your mouth that
finally speaks the word
it is someone else
the mighty one
that one that puts it
this way and that way
between
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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As Fine As Wine
hello baby, look at me
as fine as silk
do i look weak?
no baby, i am fine as wine
ah, there is something in my life
that is new
yet i shall not tell you
hello baby, life is fine as smooth as wine
in my throat flowing
hard and strong and foamy
sparkling
and gleaming
yes, baby, i am drunk
life is fine like your wine.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Visit to Victoria's Secret
I made a left
and pulled into the huge
Staten Island Mall parking lot
my sister and Nancy hopped out
racing into Victoria’s Secret
store packed
noticed a small carpeted section
motioned to my sister
sat down
watching women
examine racks and racks
of skimpy panties, silk slips, push-up bras
et cetera, et cetera
also four Transvestites
well, we all want happiness
I said to myself
no harm in a few accouterments
to help
in such a valiant effort.
Suddenly my sister appeared
holding a white silk bra
connected with several strips of more white silk
to a pair of white silk panties.
Nancy’s husband fooled around
here today to lure him back
gave my sister ideas, fears
her dear husband Howard might do the same
so in this place to make sure he stayed home.
“Very provocative, ” I declared.
“Howard just
loved Ellen Barkin wearing this in The Big Easy.”
“He loves you
only lusts after her.”
“Want him to lust after me.”
“Love is better than lust.”
poem by Charles Chaim Wax
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