To Julia
How rich and pleasing thou, my Julia, art,
In each thy dainty and peculiar part!
First, for thy Queen-ship on thy head is set
Of flowers a sweet commingled coronet;
About thy neck a carkanet is bound,
Made of the Ruby, Pearl, and Diamond;
A golden ring, that shines upon thy thumb;
About thy wrist the rich Dardanium;
Between thy breasts, than down of swans more white,
There plays the Sapphire with the Chrysolite.
No part besides must of thyself be known,
But by the Topaz, Opal, Calcedon.
poem by Robert Herrick
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The Bracelet To Julia
Why I tie about thy wrist,
Julia, this my silken twist?
For what other reason is't,
But to shew thee how in part
Thou my pretty captive art?
But thy bond-slave is my heart;
'Tis but silk that bindeth thee,
Knap the thread and thou art free;
But 'tis otherwise with me;
I am bound, and fast bound so,
That from thee I cannot go;
If I could, I would not so.
poem by Robert Herrick
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The Bracelet: To Julia
Why I tie about thy wrist,
Julia, this silken twist;
For what other reason 'tis
But to show thee how, in part,
Thou my pretty captive art?
But thy bond slave is my heart:
'tis but silk that bindeth thee,
Knap the thread and thou art free;
But 'tis otherwise with me:
-I am bound and fast bound, so
That from thee I cannot go;
If I could, I would not so.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Idea LIII: To the River Ancor
Clear Ancor, on whose silver-sanded shore
My soul-shrin'd saint, my fair Idea lies,
O blessed brook, whose milk-white swans adore
Thy crystal stream, refined by her eyes,
Where sweet myrrh-breathing Zephyr in the spring
Gently distills his nectar-dropping showers,
Where nightingales in Arden sit and sing
Amongst the dainty dew-impearled flowers;
Say thus, fair brook, when thou shalt see thy queen:
Lo, here thy shepherd spent his wand'ring years,
And in these shades, dear nymph, he oft hath been,
And here to thee he sacrific'd his tears.
Fair Arden, thou my Tempe art alone,
And thou, sweet Ancor, art my Helicon.
poem by Michael Drayton
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Portia II
Do not drink wine in a manner that brings out its intoxicating force,
But rather learn to do the right thing always in life!
For i want you to succeed like the jewels of England.
Of ruby, topaz, beryl, turquoise, sapphire and emerald;
Of jacinth, agate, amethyst, chrysolite, onyx and jasper;
Learn to do the right thing always my sweet Portia,
For many are those who are now intoxicated around you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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An Emerald Is As Green As Grass
An emerald is as green as grass;
A ruby red as blood;
A sapphire shines as blue as heaven;
A flint lies in the mud.
A diamond is a brilliant stone,
To catch the world's desire;
An opal holds a fiery spark;
But a flint holds fire.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Sonnet LIII: Clear Anker
Another to the River Anker
Clear Anker, on whose silver-sanded shore
My soul-shrin'd saint, my fair Idea, lies,
O blessed brook, whose milk-white swans adore
The crystal stream refined by her eyes,
Where sweet myrrh-breathing Zephyr in the Spring
Gently distils his nectar-dropping showers,
Where nightingales in Arden sit and sing
Among the dainty dew-impearled flowers;
Say thus, fair Brook, when thou shalt see thy Queen,
"Lo, here thy shepherd spent his wand'ring years,
And in these shades, dear nymph, he oft hath been,
And here to thee he sacrific'd his tears."
Fair Arden, thou my Tempe art alone,
And thou, sweet Anker, art my Helicon.
poem by Michael Drayton
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The Girdle Of Friendship
SHE gathered at her slender waist
The beauteous robe she wore;
Its folds a golden belt embraced,
One rose-hued gem it bore.
The girdle shrank; its lessening round
Still kept the shining gem,
But now her flowing locks it bound,
A lustrous diadem.
And narrower still the circlet grew;
Behold! a glittering band,
Its roseate diamond set anew,
Her neck's white column spanned.
Suns rise and set; the straining clasp
The shortened links resist,
Yet flashes in a bracelet's grasp
The diamond, on her wrist.
At length, the round of changes past
The thieving years could bring,
The jewel, glittering to the last,
Still sparkles in a ring.
So, link by link, our friendships part,
So loosen, break, and fall,
A narrowing zone; the loving heart
Lives changeless through them all.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Little Rich Boy
Dont read marx
Hes a clean cut guy
Just the dream
On a tv eye
If you swim
In the dark
You lose a hand
When you feed the shark
Little rich boy, shes gonna find you
Little rich boy
Little rich boy, those claws will blind you
Just a little rich boy
She got hooks
In your veins
Feel the pleasure
Kill the pain
Drop a pearl
See the dragon fly
Crack the diamond
Do you still feel high?
song performed by by Asia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A wedding Invitation
Imagine if you woke up in the morning,
just from a dream about your wedding day,
and you found me,
like a gentleman kneeling on your front yard,
down on one knee,
With five carats of sapphire blue diamond ring,
To extend a cordial invitation to you,
asking you to be a part of my wedding....
Darling would you be the most important guest at my wedding...?
Imagine you with a TIARA on your head?
Imagine you in a cascade of white laces?
Imagine you in that perfect make-up?
Imagine you with the flowers in your hand?
Indeed being the queen you always have been,
So darling would you be the most important guest at my wedding....?
Ever thought of how that day would look like?
Daddy walking her little girl down the aisle,
and for one last time taking her home,
and handing her to the care of another man,
Tears on mummy's eyes having trouble letting go of her last baby,
You quitting the single ladies' club,
to become known as missus,
your friends dressed up in your favorite colors,
Dancing and giving you away to your best friend,
The guests sited in silent adoration of the moment,
some even with tears in their eyes,
as we exchange our vows,
promising to stay faithful to one another,
a lifetime of commitment to each other,
To have and to hold,
from this day forward,
Till death do us part,
So Darling would you be the most important guest at my WEDDING?
poem by Olunga Otieno
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I shall not die for thee
FOR thee, I shall not die,
Woman of high fame and name;
Foolish men thou mayest slay
I and they are not the same.
Why should I expire
For the fire of an eye,
Slender waist or swan-like limb,
Is't for them that I should die?
The round breasts, the fresh skin,
Cheeks crimson, hair so long and rich;
Indeed, indeed, I shall not die,
Please God, not I, for any such.
The golden hair, the forehead thin,
The chaste mien, the gracious ease,
The rounded heel, the languid tone,—
Fools alone find death from these.
Thy sharp wit, thy perfect calm,
Thy thin palm like foam o' the sea;
Thy white neck, thy blue eye,
I shall not die for thee.
Woman, graceful as the swan,
A wise man did nurture me.
Little palm, white neck, bright eye,
I shall not die for ye.
poem by Douglas Hyde
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Garden Fantasy
gossamer wings of dragonflies
platinum petals of tanzanite tulips
sapphire daisies, ruby roses,
million flowers of mandarin garnets
red silk wings of butterflies
diamond-studded lilies of the valley
peridot grasses alexandrite dews
garnet violets aquamarine carnations
quarts crocus chrysoberyl chrysanthemums
opal orchids coral daffodils
metallic fantasies
of an imaginary garden
eventually your heart is missing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Ruby And The Pearl
Can love be as warm as the ruby,
Can love be as pure as the pearl?
Just look in the heart of my love for you.
You'll find the ruby and the pearl.
My love will endure as the diamond;
And shine with the shimmer of gold.
It glows like a bright star above for you,
A thing of beauty to behold.
(Bridge:)
Come close and cling to my kiss;
Come close and share the passion of this.
Yes, love is as warm as the ruby
And love is as pure as the pearl.
Just look in the heart of my love for you.
You'll find the ruby and the pearl.
(Return to bridge:)
Come close and cling to my kiss;
Come close and share the passion of this.
Yes, love is as warm as the ruby
And love is as pure as the pearl.
Just look in the heart of my love for you.
You'll find the ruby and the pearl.
Tag:
You'll find the ruby and the pearl.
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Of The Spouse Of Christ
Who's this that cometh from the wilderness,
Like smokey pillars thus perfum'd with myrrh,
Leaning upon her dearest in distress,
Led into's bosom by the Comforter?
She's clothed with the sun, crowned with twelve stars,
The spotted moon her footstool she hath made.
The dragon her assaults, fills her with jars,
Yet rests she under her Beloved's shade,
But whence was she? what is her pedigree?
Was not her father a poor Amorite?
What was her mother but as others be,
A poor, a wretched, and a sinful Hittite.
Yea, as for her, the day that she was born,
As loathsome, out of doors they did her cast;
Naked and filthy, stinking and forlorn;
This was her pedigree from first to last.
Nor was she pitied in this estate,
All let her lie polluted in her blood:
None her condition did commiserate,
There was no heart that sought to do her good.
Yet she unto these ornaments is come,
Her breasts are fashioned, her hair is grown;
She is made heiress of the best kingdom;
All her indignities away are blown.
Cast out she was, but now she home is taken,
Naked (sometimes),
but now, you see, she's cloth'd;
Now made the darling, though before forsaken,
Barefoot, but now as princes' daughters shod.
Instead of filth, she now has her perfumes;
Instead of ignominy, her chains of gold:
Instead of what the beauty most consumes,
Her beauty's perfect, lovely to behold.
Those that attend and wait upon her be
Princes of honour, clothed in white array;
Upon her head's a crown of gold, and she
Eats wheat, honey, and oil, from day to day.
For her beloved, he's the high'st of all,
The only Potentate, the King of kings:
Angels and men do him Jehovah call,
And from him life and glory always springs.
He's white and ruddy, and of all the chief:
His head, his locks, his eyes, his hands, and feet,
Do, for completeness
, out-go all belief;
His cheeks like flowers are, his mouth most sweet.
As for his wealth, he is made heir of all;
What is in heaven, what is on earth is his:
And he this lady his joint-heir doth call,
Of all that shall be, or at present is.
Well, lady, well, God has been good to thee;
Thou of an outcast, now art made a queen.
Few, or none, may with thee compared be,
A beggar made thus high is seldom seen.
Take heed of pride, remember what thou art
By nature, though thou hast in grace a share,
Thou in thyself dost yet retain a part
Of thine own filthiness; wherefore beware.
poem by John Bunyan
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I Know You Not
O Christ, the Vine with living Fruit,
The twelvefold-fruited Tree of Life,
The Balm in Gilead after strife,
The valley Lily and the Rose;
Stronger than Lebanon, Thou Root;
Sweeter than clustered grapes, Thou Vine;
O Best, Thou Vineyard of red wine,
Keeping thy best wine till the close.
Pearl of great price Thyself alone,
And ruddier than the ruby Thou;
Most precious lightning Jasper stone,
Head of the corner spurned before:
Fair Gate of pearl, Thyself the Door;
Clear golden Street, Thyself the Way;
By Thee we journey toward Thee now,
Through Thee shall enter Heaven one day.
I thirst for Thee, full fount and flood;
My heart calls Thine, as deep to deep:
Dost Thou forget Thy sweat and pain,
They provocation on the Cross?
Heart-pierced for me, vouchsafe to keep
The purchase of Thy lavished Blood:
The gain is Thine, Lord, if I gain;
Or if I lose, Thine own the loss.
At midnight (saith the Parable)
A cry was made, the Bridegroom came;
Those who were ready entered in:
The rest, shut out in death and shame,
Strove all too late that Feast to win,
Their die was cast, and fixed their lot;
A gulf divided Heaven from Hell;
The Bridegroom said—I know you not.
But Who is this that shuts the door,
And saith—I know you not—to them?
I see the wounded hands and side,
The brow thorn-tortured long ago:
Yea; This Who grieved and bled and died,
This same is He Who must condemn;
He called, but they refused to know;
So now He hears their cry no more.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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If i were a rich biatch!
If i was rich,
i'd buy lots of things,
glitzy bits,
and diamond rings,
there would be,
no money rashings,
i'd have to follow,
the trendy fashions,
i'd eat out in expensive places,
and you would still see,
the same old wasters,
if i were rich,
i'd have no money worries,
i would get down to the shops in a hurry,
but i'm not rich,
and i never will be,
i work hard for my money,
and that is me!
poor or rich?
i can't choose which,
but i will never be a rich biatch! !
poem by Emma Jane Rae
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Flowers
I will not have the mad Clytie,
Whose head is turned by the sun;
The tulip is a courtly queen,
Whom, therefore, I will shun;
The cowslip is a country wench,
The violet is a nun; -
But I will woo the dainty rose,
The queen of everyone.
The pea is but a wanton witch,
In too much haste to wed,
And clasps her rings on every hand
The wolfsbane I should dread; -
Nor will I dreary rosemary
That always mourns the dead; -
But I will woo the dainty rose,
With her cheeks of tender red.
The lily is all in white, like a saint,
And so is no mate for me -
And the daisy's cheek is tipped with blush,
She is of such low degree;
Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves,
And the broom's betrothed to the bee; -
But I will plight with the dainty rose,
For fairest of all is she.
poem by Thomas Hood
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Sonnet VI. To G. A. W.
Nymph of the downward smile and sidelong glance!
In what diviner moments of the day
Art thou most lovely? -- when gone far astray
Into the labyrinths of sweet utterance,
Or when serenely wandering in a trance
Of sober thought? -- Or when starting away,
With careless robe to meet the morning ray,
Thou sparest the flowers in thy mazy dance?
Haply 'tis when thy ruby lips part sweetly,
And so remain, because thou listenest:
But thou to please wert nurtured so completely
That I can never tell what mood is best;
I shall as soon pronounce which Grace more neatly
Trips it before Apollo than the rest.
poem by John Keats
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To the Queen
The Door of Death is made of Gold,
That Mortal Eyes cannot behold;
But, when the Mortal Eyes are clos'd,
And cold and pale the Limbs repos'd,
The Soul awakes; and, wond'ring, sees
In her mild Hand the golden Keys:
The Grave is Heaven's golden Gate,
And rich and poor around it wait;
O Shepherdess of England's Fold,
Behold this Gate of Pearl and Gold!
To dedicate to England's Queen
The Visions that my Soul has seen,
And, by Her kind permission, bring
What I have borne on solemn Wing,
From the vast regions of the Grave,
Before Her Throne my Wings I wave;
Bowing before my Sov'reign's Feet,
“The Grave produc'd these Blossoms sweet
“In mild repose from Earthly strife;
“The Blossoms of Eternal Life!”
poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To an Early Daffodil
Thou yellow trumpeter of laggard Spring!
Thou herald of rich Summer's myriad flowers!
The climbing sun with new recovered powers
Does warm thee into being, through the ring
Of rich, brown earth he woos thee, makes thee fling
Thy green shoots up, inheriting the dowers
Of bending sky and sudden, sweeping showers,
Till ripe and blossoming thou art a thing
To make all nature glad, thou art so gay;
To fill the lonely with a joy untold;
Nodding at every gust of wind to-day,
To-morrow jewelled with raindrops. Always bold
To stand erect, full in the dazzling play
Of April's sun, for thou hast caught his gold.
poem by Amy Lowell
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To G.A.W.
Nymph of the downward smile and sidelong glance!
In what diviner moments of the day
Art thou most lovely?—when gone far astray
Into the labyrinths of sweet utterance,
Or when serenely wandering in a trance
Of sober thought? Or when starting away,
With careless robe to meet the morning ray,
Thou sparest the flowers in thy mazy dance?
Haply 'tis when thy ruby lips part sweetly,
And so remain, because thou listenest:
But thou to please wert nurtured so completely
That I can never tell what mood is best;
I shall as soon pronounce which Grace more neatly
Trips it before Apollo than the rest.
poem by John Keats
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