Metrical Letter, Written From London.
Margaret! my Cousin!--nay, you must not smile;
I love the homely and familiar phrase;
And I will call thee Cousin Margaret,
However quaint amid the measured line
The good old term appears. Oh! it looks ill
When delicate tongues disclaim old terms of kin,
Sirring and Madaming as civilly
As if the road between the heart and lips
Were such a weary and Laplandish way
That the poor travellers came to the red gates
Half frozen. Trust me Cousin Margaret,
For many a day my Memory has played
The creditor with me on your account,
And made me shame to think that I should owe
So long the debt of kindness. But in truth,
Like Christian on his pilgrimage, I bear
So heavy a pack of business, that albeit
I toil on mainly, in our twelve hours race
Time leaves me distanced. Loath indeed were I
That for a moment you should lay to me
Unkind neglect; mine, Margaret, is a heart
That smokes not, yet methinks there should be some
Who know how warm it beats. I am not one
Who can play off my smiles and courtesies
To every Lady of her lap dog tired
Who wants a play-thing; I am no sworn friend
Of half-an-hour, as apt to leave as love;
Mine are no mushroom feelings that spring up
At once without a seed and take no root,
Wiseliest distrusted. In a narrow sphere
The little circle of domestic life
I would be known and loved; the world beyond
Is not for me. But Margaret, sure I think
That you should know me well, for you and I
Grew up together, and when we look back
Upon old times our recollections paint
The same familiar faces. Did I wield
The wand of Merlin's magic I would make
Brave witchcraft. We would have a faery ship,
Aye, a new Ark, as in that other flood
That cleansed the sons of Anak from the earth,
The Sylphs should waft us to some goodly isle
Like that where whilome old Apollidon
Built up his blameless spell; and I would bid
The Sea Nymphs pile around their coral bowers,
That we might stand upon the beach, and mark
The far-off breakers shower their silver spray,
And hear the eternal roar whose pleasant sound
Told us that never mariner should reach
Our quiet coast. In such a blessed isle
We might renew the days of infancy,
And Life like a long childhood pass away,
Without one care. It may be, Margaret,
That I shall yet be gathered to my friends,
For I am not of those who live estranged
Of choice, till at the last they join their race
In the family vault. If so, if I should lose,
Like my old friend the Pilgrim, this huge pack
So heavy on my shoulders, I and mine
Will end our pilgrimage most pleasantly.
If not, if I should never get beyond
This Vanity town, there is another world
Where friends will meet. And often, Margaret,
I gaze at night into the boundless sky,
And think that I shall there be born again,
The exalted native of some better star;
And like the rude American I hope
To find in Heaven the things I loved on earth.
poem by Robert Southey
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Related quotes
When Margaret Comes To Town
When you were a kid you recieved no good instruction
And your mother was never nowhere to be found
This lies were yelled and the truth was seldom spoken
Thats what you get when margaret comes to town
She likes to keep things upside down
When margaret comes to town
When your thoughts are twisted and distorted
And your children are forced to choose sides and lie down
And the kepper is screaming drunk running around naked
Its for your pleasure when margaret comes to town
She likes to keep things upside down
When margaret comes to town
Oh, but those who believe in her
They cut off their noses to spite their faces
Leaving you the little one scared and lonely
Who really cares about you now
So if you see her coming man youd bettertake cover
She stays down at the dark end of a frown
And just like the sirens that are so sweet singing
Its better just to leave when margaret comes to town
When margaret comes to town
She likes to keep things upside down
When margaret comes to town
She likes to keep things upside down
When margaret comes to town
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Amy Margaret's Five Year Old
Amy Margaret's five years old,
Amy Margaret's hair is gold,
Dearer twenty-thousand-fold
Than gold, is Amy Margaret.
"Amy" is friend, is "Margaret"
The pearl for crown or carkanet?
Or peeping daisy, summer's pet?
Which are you, Amy Margaret?
A friend, a daisy, and a pearl,
A kindly, simple, precious girl, --
Such, howsoe'er the world may twirl,
Be ever, -- Amy Margaret!
poem by William Allingham
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Dear Margaret
Dear margaret I beg of you
Dear margaret gonna tell on you
Dont want to be patronized
By those lying eyes
Dear margaret I wanted you
Youre warming me up
So you can leave me cold
Kissin up to the rich
Intending to control
All the money money money
Is that all you live for
Youre a model and example
Of a greed that will destroy
Dear margaret I beg of you
Dont you like rock n roll
Dear margaret gonna tell on you
I like your wiggle when you walk
Dear margaret I trusted you
Dont you let me down
Dear margaret I wanted you
You had me living the illusion
To be a millionaire
Investing in stocks
Look at you now stringin other guys along
Youre into swinging
Now the money is all gone
Dear margaret I beg of you
Dont you like rock n roll
Dear margaret I trusted you
Your economic growth
And your cool suntan
But what have you done to your fellow man
Youve betrated us all with just a
Wave of your hand
What good is prosperity
When it starves the soul in man
Dear margaret I beg of you
Dont you like rock n roll
Dear margaret gonna tell on you
I like your wiggle when you walk
Dont want to be patronized
By those lying eyes
Dear margaret I trusted you
Dont you let me down
Dear margaret I wanted you
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From Faust - VI. Scene--A Garden
Margaret. Faust.
MARGARET.
DOST thou believe in God?
FAUST.
Doth mortal live
Who dares to say that he believes in God?
Go, bid the priest a truthful answer give,
Go, ask the wisest who on earth e'er trod,--
Their answer will appear to be
Given alone in mockery.
MARGARET.
Then thou dost not believe? This sayest thou?
FAUST.
Sweet love, mistake not what I utter now!
Who knows His name?
Who dares proclaim:--
Him I believe?
Who so can feel
His heart to steel
To sari believe Him not?
The All-Embracer,
The All-Sustained,
Holds and sustains He not
Thee, me, Himself?
Hang not the heavens their arch overhead?
Lies not the earth beneath us, firm?
Gleam not with kindly glances
Eternal stars on high?
Looks not mine eye deep into thine?
And do not all things
Crowd on thy head and heart,
And round thee twine, in mystery eterne,
Invisible, yet visible?
Fill, then, thy heart, however vast, with this,
And when the feeling perfecteth thy bliss,
O, call it what thou wilt,
Call it joy! heart! love! God!
No name for it I know!
'Tis feeling all--nought else;
Name is but sound and smoke,
Obscuring heaven's bright glow.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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The Depression of the 1930's
The depression of the 1930's was the time of my childhood days,
There were a lot of worries and hardships in many ways.
Whatever time people could spare, they would help each other out,
Bad times also came when there was a draught.
The depression of the 1930's our parents would help make quilts of all kinds,
They would work long hours, day and night, it was alot on their minds.
Fathers would work on the W.P.A. just to make ends meet,
Breaking stones was very hard work, some of them fell to their feet.
The depression of the 1930's there were problems about work, severe
winters and war,
People never know from day to day what may be in store,
There were children of all ages, sick with an illness,
Some of them passed away with the long nights of stillness.
The depression of the 1930's made it bad for all ages,
Work was scare, there was pay of low wages.
During the depression, we all learned how to survive,
A lot of people shared the hardships by showing love and being alive.
The depression of the 1930's will be in my heart for the rest of my life,
I, Margaret L. Hockenberry, now Margaret l. Rodkey lived in those hardships
of struggle and strife
My parents were loving and caring in every way,
They taught me to respect people and show them we care.
poem by Margaret Rodkey
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The Making Up
Little Miss Margaret sits in a pout,
She and her Dolly have just fallen out.
Dolly is gazing with sorest stare,
Fitted dejectedly back in her chair.
Angry at Margaret, tearful and grieved,
Sore at the spanking so lately received.
Pursed are the maiden's lips close as can be,
They are not speaking, Miss Dolly and she.
Five minutes passes in silence and then,
Margaret's ready for playing again.
Dolly unbendingly sits in her place,
Never a change coming over her face.
Up mad goes, Margaret dropping her pout,
Clasping her playmate she whispers in doubt.
Let's don't play and cry, it's too much like true,
Let's make up Dolly I ain't mad is you?
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Requiem for Margaret
Something happened today
Today it was I heard a neighbour
died
And I saw the loved ones cry
Today it was today,
We saw the end of her
Today it was saw the toil of her
Go down the drain
Together with the the rain
And it broke my heart
I lost my manhood and cried
For Margaret
My good neghbour.
What a regret to see her labours
Over the years
Go down in just one day.
Margaret is gone forever,
It is no lie
But with Christ she lies.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Margaret
(traditional, arrangement by steve rothery, mark kelly, pete trawavas, michael pointer & fish)
For me and my true-love will never walk again on the bonnie, bonnie banks of loch lomond.
Moira anderson, eat your heart out!
You-ou--
Youll take the high road an Ill take the low road, an Ill be in scotland before you
For me and my true-love well never walk again on the bonnie, bonnie banks of loch lomond
Youll take the acid an Ill take the dope, an Ill be stoned before you
For me an my true-love, the drink waters well on the bonnie, bonnie banks of loch lomond
Step we gaily on we go, heel for heel and toe for toe
Arm in arm
An row an row all for mhairis wedding
Step we gaily on we go, heel for heel and toe for toe
Arm in arm an row an row all for mhairis wedding
I said you, you, you, youll take the high road
I said ill, ill, ill, Ill take the low road
On the lead guitar, from yorkshire mr. stephen rothery!
I said you, you, you, you take the high road
I said ill, ill, ill, Ill take the low road
On the bass guitar, the backing vocal, from aylesbury mr. peter trawavas!
I said you, you, you, you take the high road
I said ill, ill, ill, Ill take the low road
On the keyboards, from dublin mr. mark kelly!
I said you, you--, youll take the high road
I said ill, ill--, Ill take the low road
On drums, per-cus-si-on, mr. michael e.t. pointer!
And a very big round of applause, for yourself, one audience tonight
It takes two!
On vocals, and percussion fish! ...
A dream fulfilled!
Sweet ma- ma- ma- ma- margaret
I said you take the high road
An Ill take the low road
An Ill be in scotland before you
For me and my true-love well never meet again
On the bonnie, bonnie banks of loch lomond
Sweet ma- ma- ma- ma- margaret
The balcony: sweet ma- ma- ma- ma margaret
Say yer scottish: sweet ma- ma- ma- ma- margaret
I said youll take the high road
An Ill take the low road
An Ill be in scotland before you
For me and my true-love well never meet again
On the bonnie, bonnie, bonnie, bonnie, bonnie banks of loch lomond!
Banks of loch lomond!
Sweet margaret
Sweet margaret
Sweet ma- ma- ma- ma- margaret!
Thank you edinburgh, good night, we shall de-fi-nite-ly return
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Johannesburg!
Johannesburg (Lyric)
Johannesburg
Johannesburg
I’m here and starting to shine
Like a chandelier
You spark the atmosphere
Come on! Let our talents combine.
Pink satin tights
Bright city lights
Oh wow! But I’m doing fine
I feel so lyrical
And it’s a miracle
To see these gumboot feet of mine just fly.
Chorus:
There is this big band sound
That’s playing all around
A carousel of hope
for both the lost and the found.
I want the whole big world to know
you’re my home town…
You’re good as gold – Johannesburg.
You’re good as gold - Johannesburg.
© Margaret Kollmer
poem by Margaret Kollmer
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Spring and Fall: To a young child
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
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To a Young Child
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
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Sonnet X: Daughter to that good Earl
To the Lady Margaret Ley
Daughter to that good Earl, once President
Of England's Council, and her Treasury,
Who lived in both, unstained with gold or fee,
And left them both, more in himself content,
Till sad the breaking of that Parliament
Broke him, as that dishonest victory
At Chaeronea, fatal to liberty,
Killed with report that old man eloquent.
Though later born than to have known the days
Wherein your father flourished, yet by you,
Madam, methinks I see him living yet;
So well your words his noble virtues praise,
That all both judge you to relate them true,
And to possess them, honoured Margaret.
poem by John Milton
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Until He Appears
Just one person required to think me amazing,
just one voice desired to whisper I make him
crazy, only one pair of arms for a feeling of
sweet romance, as I listen entranced to the
voice in my mind and lean back in the arms
conjured by my thoughts
As I listen to my fantasy using the sounds
supplied by reality to create the atmosphere
in which I am cherished and I can love him
also, a sphere in which I can hear his every
thought and he can hear mine, in which I can
see his intents and he can see mine
A sphere in which our spirits intertwine, a magic
atmosphere in which we can dance to the original
tune of the universe, a sphere in which he is mine
and I can be his and I can feel his hand holding
mine, his heart blossoming to encompass mine,
his mind entering my dreams
What a wonderful thought, what a bewitching way
to while the time away until he appears
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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The Wife's Lament
Loud howls the wintry blast, the rain descends,
And patters heavy on the ice-glazed roof;
But yet he comes not. 'T is a dreary night—
Long since, the midnight bell hath toll'd the hour.
And long, long since, my womanish fears had framed
Some reason dread, for absence thus prolong'd,
But that so oft 't is thus. Oh! had I once
But even thought that thus thy love might change,
I should have shudder'd at the bare surmise,
And chid myself in anger for the thought.
But now, I feel it true, and yet I live,
I live to feel thy heart, thyself estranged,
From all that once it loved—to sit alone,
And number out the weary midnight hours
That waste with thee in revelry and mirth,
And weep in sadness at thy long delay.
Oh, Henry! once—but I will not look back,
Nor think of present, past, or future scenes,
Or thought would madden me. But hark! again
The watch proclaims the second morning hour,
And still he lingers. Sure, some dire mischance
Delays his coming—but it is not so—
How often I have wept in terror wild,
And almost wish'd 't were rather guilt, than harm,
That kept him from my arms—and he has come,
And I have half forgotten all my woe,
In joy at his approach, till his cold frown
Has chill'd my heart to stone! And yet this night,
While all the elements seem bent on war,
He surely could not, would not, leave me thus,
And join the laugh of riot. Oh, Henry, Henry,
Changed, cruel, as thou art, I love thee still!
My peace, my life, are woven in thy fate,
And freely would I give that life for thine.
And thou—thou couldst not change, so wholly change
From all I knew thee once—thou lov'st me yet;
It is some secret anguish breaks thy peace,
And thence thine alter'd looks—But, hark! he comes,
Thank heaven, he is safe! Be dry, my tears!
My face must wear a smile at his approach;
I will not greet him save with looks of joy,
Although my aching heart in anguish bleeds,
And mourns his early alienated love!
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Kneeling Slave
Pity the negro, lady! her's is not,
Like thine, a blessed and most happy lot!
Thou, shelter'd ‘neath a parent's tireless care,
The fondly loved, the theme of many a prayer,
Blessing, and blest, amidst thy circling friends,
Whose love repays the joys thy presence lends,
Tread'st gaily onward, o'er thy path of flowers,
With ceaseless summer lingering round thy bowers.
But her—the outcast of a frowning fate,
Long weary years of servile bondage wait.
Her lot uncheer'd by hope's reviving gale,
The lowest in life's graduated scale—
The few poor hours of bliss that cheer her still,
Uncertain pensioners on a master's will—
'Midst ceaseless toils renew'd from day to day,
She wears in bitter tears her life away.
She is thy sister, woman! shall her cry,
Uncared for, and unheeded, pass thee by?
Wilt thou not weep to see her rank so low,
And seek to raise her from her place of woe?
Or has thy heart grown selfish in its bliss,
That thou shouldst view unmoved a fate like this?
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Christian Love
Oh, Father! when the soften'd heart
Is lifted up in prayer to thee,
When earthly thoughts awhile depart,
And leave the mounting spirit free—
Then teach us that our love, like thine,
O'er all the realms of earth should flow,
A shoreless stream, a flood divine,
To bathe and heal the heart of woe.
Then Afric's son shall hear no more
The tyrant's in the Christian's name;
Nor tears of wasting anguish pour
Unpitied, o'er his life of shame;
But taught to love thee, by the love
That bids his long-worn fetters break,
He, too, shall lift his soul above,
And serve thee for thy mercy's sake.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To A *****
My own Annette! my own Annette!
How often turn my thoughts to thee,
And those sweet hours when erst we met,
And shared our thoughts in converse free!
Around me the soft moonshine pours
A quiet flood of silver light;
And thus o'er memory's hoarded stores,
The star of thought is gleaming bright.
Yet, though long years have glided past,
Since last thy hand was clasp'd in mine,
The chain that friendship o'er us cast,
Hath felt no link of love untwine.
And we may meet in other hours,
And love where we have loved, again;
And talk of all the early flowers
We gather'd on life's by-past plain.
But there are stronger ties than ours,
Remorseless rent by cruel hands;
Torn hearts, o'er which no future hours
Shall fling again the sever'd bands.
Oh! let us weep with those who weep,
Beneath oppression's crushing hand;
And in our thoughts their anguish keep
Who till in tears our guilty land.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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They didn't even like Margaret Thatcher but at least there was Margaret Thatcher. There have been women, you know, Sonia Gandhi for heaven's sakes in India.
quote by Kate Clinton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Family: The SMS-Messages Start...
It is still dark when we leave home - the
school gate is barely open; an hour and
a half before school starts a little boy
already there; out in the winter cold; then
a little girl is also left half an hour before
her school starts; in the afternoon he goes
to after-school; but she has to stay in the
school grounds; at two-forty-five the SMS-
messages start: Hi mom, what are you
doing? - I’m typing my love, and you? –
I’ve got nothing to do; - I know that’s
not true with all that maths and homework
tasks, yet I play along; I wish she were
here or already at home instead of at
school all alone; that was the choice I
made as a working mom; if I give up
my job I’ll never find one again – it’s
all about quotas and race and not expertise
– besides, it is my whole social life – if
only school did not end at two in the
afternoon and children were not left
all by themselves so soon…
poem by Margaret Alice
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To Margaret W
Margaret, in happy hour,
Christen'd from that humble flower
Which we a daisy call!
May thy pretty name-sake be
In all things a type of thee,
And image thee in all.
Like it you show a modest face,
An unpretending native grace; —
The tulip, and the pink,
The china and the damask rose,
And every flaunting flower that blows,
In the comparing shrink.
Of lowly fields you think no scorn;
Yet gayest gardens would adorn,
And grace, wherever set.
Home-seated in your lonely bower,
Or wedded — a transplanted flower —
I bless you, Margaret!
poem by Charles Lamb
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