At Your Love
Pallor has spread on my forehead.
The brows, boas in shape, have drooped.
The lips, a boat in cut, have drooped.
The shoulders, a scale, have drooped.
The breasts, two pyramids, have hung.
The heart, fat with love, has shrunk.
The limbs weak, bangles slipped off.
You don't see my agony.
To show you my waned body,
My modesty forbids me.
Your delay causes tension.
Hold my hand in public, soon.
Had I not lost my innocence
To you, I would not have pleaded.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Related quotes
Few Have Tears On Hold
Who's not living getting minimal aid?
Everybody's living with a whoop pooped
Everybody's living with a whoop drooped.
Going where their woes flow.
Few have tears on hold.
Today everyone's affected.
And emotional.
Everybody's living with a whoop pooped.
Everybody's living with a whoop drooped.
Who's not living getting minimal aid?
Everybody's living with a whoop pooped
And who's not feeling some pain today?
Everybody's living with a whoop pooped
Everybody's living with a whoop drooped.
Going where their woes flow.
Few have tears on hold.
Today everyone's affected.
And emotional.
Everybody.
Everybody's living with a whoop pooped.
Everybody.
Everybody's living with a whoop drooped.
Everybody.
Everybody's living with pain.
Everybody.
Everybody living is drained.
And...
Everybody's living with a whoop pooped.
Everybody.
Everybody's living with a whoop drooped.
Everybody.
Everybody's living with pain.
Everybody.
Everybody living is drained.
Everybody.
Everybody living is strained.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Destiny
Three roses, wan as moonlight, and weighed down
Each with its loveliness as with a crown,
Drooped in a florist's window in a town.
The first a lover bought. It lay at rest,
Like flower on flower, that night, on Beauty's breast.
The second rose, as virginal and fair,
Shrunk in the tangles of a harlot's hair.
The third, a widow, with new grief made wild,
Shut in the icy palm of her dead child.
poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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Surroundings-9
Holy Bath
They drooped drippy drenched
cleansed in last night's heavy rains
Stooped lilke a child wet
Stooped trees daubed smile like child wiped
When with a sunshine spread next
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Empty Soul
The solitary figure that walks along the beach
at the waters edge with aspiration
floating around their head,
but take a look again
and tell us what you see
within the drooped shoulders.
That seem to hold the burdens of the world,
and the eyes that seem forever
always gazed towards the ground.
The face that never smiles when jokes are abound.
You say you see a solitary figure
a life with nothing, but just an empty soul.
You say that figure remains you of someone
whose name is on the tip of your tongue.
Look again friend deeply this time
for that solitary figure
who holds within an empty soul
is just a reflection of me.
15 May 2010
poem by David Harris
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Epilogue
UNDER THE BLESSING OF YOUR PSYCHE WINGS
Though I have found you llke a snow-drop pale,
On sunny days have found you weak and still,
Though I have often held your girlish head
Drooped on my shoulder, faint from little ill:—
Under the blessing of your Psyche-wings
I hide to-night like one small broken bird,
So soothed. I half-forget the world gone mad:—
And all the winds of war are now unheard.
My heaven-doubting pennons feel your hands
With touch most delicate so circling round,
That for an hour I dream that God is good.
And in your shadow, Mercy's ways abound.
I thought myself the guard of your frail state,
And yet I come to-night a helpless guest,
Hiding beneath your giant Psyche-wings,
Against the pallor of your wondrous breast.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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A Meaning Learnt
I'm not his wife. I am his paramour:
His wayside love, picked up in journeying:
Rose of the hedgerows; fragrant, till he fling
Me down beside the ditch, a drooped thing
Some country boy may stick into his hat.
A paramour has no more use than that.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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The Lunatic Girl
Most beautiful, most gentle! Yet how lost
To all that gladdens the fair earth; the eye
That watched her being; the maternal care
That kept and nourished her; and the calm light
That steals from our own thoughts, and softly rests
On youth's green vallies and smooth-sliding waters.
Alas! few suns of life, and fewer winds,
Had withered or had wasted the fresh rose
That bloomed upon her cheek; but one chill frost
Came in that early Autumn, when ripe thought
Is rich and beautiful, and blighted it;
And the fair stalk grew languid day by day,
And drooped -- and drooped, and shed its many leaves.
'Tis said that some have died of love; and some,
Love's passionate feelings and heart-wasting cares,
have spurned life's threshold with a desperate foot:
And others have gone mad,-- and she was one!--
Her lover died at sea; and they had felt
A coldness for each other when they parted;
But love returned again, and to her ear
Came tidings that the ship which bore her lover
Had sullenly gone down at sea, and all were lost.
I saw her in her native vale, when high
The aspiring lark up from the reedy river
Mounted, on cheerful pinion; and she sat
Casting smooth pebbles into a clear fountain,
And marking how they sunk; and oft she sighed
For him that perished thus in the vast deep.
She had a sea-shell, that her lover brought
From the far-distant ocean, and she pressed
Its smooth cold lips unto her ear, and thought
It whispered tiding of the dark blue sea;
And sad, she cried, 'The tides are out!-- and now
I see his corse upon the stormy beach!'
Around her neck a string of rose-lipped shells,
And coral, and white pearl, was loosely hung;
And close beside her lay a delicate fan,
Made of the halcyon's blue wing; and when
She looked upon it, it would calm her thoughts
As that bird calms the ocean,-- for it gave
Mournful, yet pleasant, memory. Once I marked,
When through the mountain hollows and green woods,
That bent beneath its footsteps, the loud wind
Came with a voice as of the restless deep,
She raised her head, and on her pale, cold cheek
A beauty of diviner seeming came;
And then she spread her hands, and smiled, as if
She welcomed a long absent friend,-- and then
Shrunk timorously back again, and wept.
I turned away a multitude of thoughts,
Mournful and dark, were crowding on my mind;
And as I left that lost and ruined one,--
A living monument that still on earth
There is warm love and deep sincerity,--
She gazed upon the west, where the blue sky
Held, like an ccean, in its wide embrace
Those fairy islands of bright cloud, that lay
So calm and quietly in the thin ether.
And then she pointed where, alone and high,
One little cloud sailed onward, like a lost
And wandering bark, and fainter grew, and fainter,
And soon was swallowed up in the blue depths;
And, when it sunk away, she turned again
With sad despondency and tears to earth.
Three long and weary months -- yet not a whisper
Of stern reproach for that cold parting! Then
She sat no longer by her favorite fountain!--
She was at rest forever.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Sabbath
A whiff of feverish poisonous plants
Makes me dream in moony dusks,
And quietly I feel entwined, embraced,
And see like a sabbath of insane witches
Blood-colored blossoms in the mirrors' brightness
Pressing flaming prurience from my heart,
And their lips experienced in all arts
Swell furiously near my drunken throat.
Pestilence colored flowers of tropical beaches,
Offer her chalices to my lips,
Cloudy drool-fountains of nauseating tortures.
And one gobbles - o raving Maenad -
My flesh, drooped from the sultry vapors,
And ecstaticized in pain by terrible prurience.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Root Cellar
Nothing would sleep in that cellar, dank as a ditch,
Bulbs broke out of boxes hunting for chinks in the dark,
Shoots dangled and drooped,
Lolling obscenely from mildewed crates,
Hung down long yellow evil necks, like tropical snakes.
And what a congress of stinks!—
Roots ripe as old bait,
Pulpy stems, rank, silo-rich,
Leaf-mold, manure, lime, piled against slippery planks.
Nothing would give up life:
Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath.
poem by Theodore Roethke
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Degrees Of Love
When your eyes opened to mine eyes,
Without desire, without surprise,
I knew your soul awoke to see
All, dreams foretold, but could not be,
Yet loving me, not loving me.
When your eyes drooped before mine eyes,
As though some secret made them wise,
Some wisdom veiled them secretly,
I knew your heart began to be
In love with love, in love with me.
When your eyes tawned against mine eyes,
With beaten hunger, and with cries,
In bitter pride's humility,
Love, wholly mine, had come to be.
Hatred of love for loving me.
poem by Arthur Symons
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He came thus
He came thus
He went thus
Unknown and unsung
He came thus
Flowers burst forth at his every step
He went thus
Flowers drooped at his every step
He came thus
His voice filled the air with song
He went thus
Silence brimmed with the still song
It rang the bell in every heart
He came thus
He went thus
Unknown and unsung
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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Four Years
At the Midsummer, when the hay was down,
Said I mournful - Though my life be in its prime,
Bare lie my meadows all shorn before their time,
O'er my sere woodlands the leaves are turning brown;
It is the hot Midsummer, when the hay is down.
At the Midsummer, when the hay was down,
Stood she by the brooklet, young and very fair,
With the first white bindweed twisted in her hair -
Hair that drooped like birch-boughs, all in her simple gown -
That eve in high Midsummer, when the hay was down.
At the Midsummer, when the hay was down,
Crept she a willing bride close into my breast;
Low-piled the thunder-clouds had sunk into the west,
Red-eyed the sun out-glared like knight from leaguered town;
It was the high Midsummer, and the sun was down.
It is Midsummer - all the hay is down,
Close to her forehead press I dying eyes,
Praying God shield her till we meet in Paradise,
Bless her in love's name who was my joy and crown,
And I go at Midsummer, when the hay is down.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Market Day
`
squashed cabbage leaves,
crushed petals, broken stems
strewn along grey slush
wind whisks cobbled street,
gravel crunches under
hooves and booted feet
rain-drooped marquees
whisper freshest gossip;
clock tower tolls on the hour
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
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Once Upon A Winter Day
Once upon a winter day
Gray clouds passed swiftly across the sky
As shapely snowflakes fell steadily down,
Covering the land in a dazzling white
Leaving a winter calling card on the ground.
Once upon a winter day
The snow-edged creek silently wept
Near the shadows of the tall pine trees
Trimmed in a glittering white lace,
Creating an impressive display in the breeze.
Once upon a winter day
Branches drooped to the impassable road
Due to the weight of the snow.
Icicles hung from the dormant trees
In view of the shattered daylight glow.
Once upon a winter day
Nothing is heard but rubbing tree limbs
And a stray dog faintly barking,
The vibrant sound of a frightened deer,
A broken tree branch suddenly falling.
Once upon a winter day
The distant snow-covered hills
Loomed in the path of the gloomy sky,
Where the northerly wind briskly growled
As chickadees and juncos fluttered by.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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Lettice
I said to Lettice, our sister Lettice,
While drooped and glistened her eyelash brown,
'Your man's a poor man, a cold and dour man,
There's many a better about our town.'
She smiled securely - 'He loves me purely:
A true heart's safe, both in smile or frown;
And nothing harms me while his love warms me,
Whether the world go up or down.'
'He comes of strangers, and they are rangers,
And ill to trust, girl, when out of sight:
Fremd folk may blame ye, and e'en defame ye,
A gown oft handled looks seldom white.'
She raised serenely her eyelids queenly, -
'My innocence is my whitest gown;
No harsh tongue grieves me while he believes me,
Whether the world go up or down.'
'Your man's a frail man, was ne'er a hale man,
And sickness knocketh at every door,
And death comes making bold hearts cower, breaking -'
Our Lettice trembled; - but once, no more.
'If death should enter, smite to the center
Our poor home palace, all crumbling down,
He cannot fright us, nor disunite us,
Life bears Love's cross, death brings Love's crown.'
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Hung Up On You
Orbison/melson
Hooked on the touch of your hand, high on how you understand
Lost when you whispered hello ,something in your eyes said dont go
I just had to stay, couldnt go away from you, you knew what to do to get me
Hung up on you,hung up on you,hung up on you,hung up on you
You knew, the first time we met that I could never forget
You held me so close to you, I could never get over you
You were so aware how to make me care and keep me
Hung up on you,hung up on you,hung up on you,hung up on you
Yeah, you got me where you wanted me, I am where I really want to be
Hung up,hung up,hung up on you
Im so hung up on you that I dont know what I would do without you
Oh it will take me forever to get enough of you and I cant help it if im
Hung up on you,hung up on you,hung up on you baby,hung up on you
Hung up on you,hung up on you...
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beneath A Photoraph
Phoebus, who taught me art divine,
Here tried his hand where I did mine;
And his white fingers in this face
Set my Fair's sigh-suggesting grace.
O sweetness past profaning guess,
Grievous with its own exquisiteness!
Vesper-like face, its shadows bright
With meanings of sequestered light;
Drooped with shamefast sanctities
She purely fears eyes cannot miss,
Yet would blush to know she IS.
Ah, who can view with passionless glance
This tear-compelling countenance!
He has cozened it to tell
Almost its own miracle.
Yet I, all-viewing though he be,
Methinks saw further here than he;
And, Master gay! I swear I drew
Something the better of the two!
poem by Francis Thompson
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Fletcher McGee
She took my strength by minutes,
She took my life by hours,
She drained me like a fevered moon
That saps the spinning world.
The days went by like shadows,
The minutes wheeled like stars.
She took pity from my heart,
And made it into smiles.
She was a hunk of sculptor's clay,
My secret thoughts were fingers:
They flew behind her pensive brow
And lined it deep with pain.
They set the lips, and sagged the cheeks,
And drooped the eyes with sorrow.
My soul had entered in the clay,
Fighting like seven devils.
It was not mine, it was not hers;
She held it, but its struggles
Modeled a face she hated,
And a face I feared to see.
I beat the windows, shook the bolts.
I hid me in a corner--
And then she died and haunted me,
And hunted me for life.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Ain't That A Lot Of Love (feat. Simply Red)
Words and music by Willa Dean Parker and Homer Banks
I know the desert cant hold all the love
that I feel in my heart for you, yeah
If I could spread it out across the sea
I know my love would cork it up
Aint that a lot of love
For one heart to hold
If the bees only knew how sweet you are, Baby
They would seal up their honey comb
If the birds could hear how sweet your voice is
They would tighten up the song
Aint that a lot of love
For one heart to hold
Your lips are so sweet
Honey, youre my every need
You got a smile so rare
A love like yours I just cant compare
Aint that a lot of love
For one heart to hold
If the cook in the kitchen had a touch as hot as yours
They wouldnt need a fire
I cant think of a word that describes your love better
Than the sky above
Aint that a lot of love
For one heart to hold
Yeah
Aint that a lot of love
Aint that a lot of love
For one heart to hold
One heart to hold
One heart to hold
One heart to hold
Aint that a lot of love
Aint that a lot of love
One heart to hold
One heart to hold
Aint that a lot of love
Aint that a lot of love
For one heart to hold
Oh thats a lot of love
Lot of love
Sounds like a lot of love
Sounds like a lot of love
For one heart to hold
For one heart to hold
song performed by by Tom Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Lounger
He leant against a lamp-post, lost
In some mysterious reverie:
His head was bowed; his arms were crossed;
He yawned, and glanced evasively:
Uncrossed his arms, and slowly put
Them back again, and scratched his side--
Shifted his weight from foot to foot,
And gazed out no-ward, idle-eyed.
Grotesque of form and face and dress,
And picturesque in every way--
A figure that from day to day
Drooped with a limper laziness;
A figure such as artists lean,
In pictures where distress is seen,
Against low hovels where we guess
No happiness has ever been.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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