Katie Drummond
My Louis loved me oh so well
And spiered me for his wife;
He would have haled me from the hell
That was my bawdy life:
The mother of his bairns to be,
Daftlike he saw in me.
But I, a hizzie of the town
Just telt him we must part;
Loving too well to drag him down
I tore him from my heart:
To save the honour of his name
I went back to my shame.
They say he soared to starry fame,
Romance flowed from his pen;
A prince of poets he became,
Pride of his fellow men:
My breast was pillow for his head,
Yet naught of his I've read.
Smoking my cutty pipe the while,
In howths of Leith I lag;
* My Louis lies in South Sea isle
As I a sodden hag
Live on . . . Oh Love, by men enskied
The day you went--I died.
*R.L.S.
poem by Robert William Service
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Related quotes
I Loved You Once
I loved you once, with all my heart, my spirit, body, soul...
I loved you once, with all not part, with marriage as my goal...
I loved you once, with all my strength, as if I were on fire...
I loved you once, with all at length, as if love meant desire...
I loved you once, with all my dreams, which came by day and night...
I loved you once, with all extremes spent on this one delight...
I loved you once, with all God gave, with passion borne of joy...
I loved you once, with all to save romance and not some ploy...
I loved you once, with love divine, not holding back a thing...
I loved you once, with love benign that caused my heart to sing...
I loved you once, with happiness no other man has known...
I loved you once, with prayers to bless yet now I pray alone...
I loved you once, with each embrace, until the day you died...
I loved you once, with all God's grace yet now what sighs are sighed.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Bob Justice
Bob Justice was an old pipe smoking fellow
And outside his shop on Main Street Millstreet Town
He and his sister May often sat talking
Whilst he greeted people passing up and down.
He became well known through his business and bakery
And as a man who owned and raced greyhounds
And it's been said that Bob enjoyed a gamble
And he often bet up to one hundred pounds.
He must have smoked a lot of pipe tobacco
As much as anyone for miles about
And perhaps more than anybody else in Millstreet
For his pipe was seldom distant from his mouth.
His wife from Cockhill and they had two daughters
And one of them Geraldine owns the shop today
And though it's been years since Bob Justice was living
On looking back it only seems yesterday.
If there's a Heaven there you'll find Bob Justice
Smoking his pipe distant from Millstreet Town
And in the cool shade sitting in the sunshine
And greeting people passing up and down.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Now When The Number Of My Years
NOW when the number of my years
Is all fulfilled, and I
From sedentary life
Shall rouse me up to die,
Bury me low and let me lie
Under the wide and starry sky.
Joying to live, I joyed to die,
Bury me low and let me lie.
Clear was my soul, my deeds were free,
Honour was called my name,
I fell not back from fear
Nor followed after fame.
Bury me low and let me lie
Under the wide and starry sky.
Joying to live, I joyed to die,
Bury me low and let me lie.
Bury me low in valleys green
And where the milder breeze
Blows fresh along the stream,
Sings roundly in the trees -
Bury me low and let me lie
Under the wide and starry sky.
Joying to live, I joyed to die,
Bury me low and let me lie.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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After Death
IF we must part, this parting is the best:
How would you bear to lay
Your head on some warm pillow far away--
Your head, so used to lying on my breast?
But now your pillow is cold;
Your hands have flowers, and not my hands, to hold;
Upon our bed the worn bride-linen lies.
I have put the death-money upon your eyes,
So that you should not wake up in the night.
I have bound your face with white;
I have washed you, yes, with water and not with tears,--
Those arms wherein I have slept so many years,
Those feet that hastened when they came to me,
And all your body that belonged to me.
I have smoothed your dear dull hair,
And there is nothing left to say for you
And nothing left to fear or pray for you;
And I have got the rest of life to bear:
Thank God it is you, not I, who are lying there.
If I had died
And you had stood beside
This still white bed
Where the white, scented, horrible flowers are spread,--
I know the thing it is,
And I thank God that He has spared you this.
If one must bear it, thank God it was I
Who had to live and bear to see you die,
Who have to live, and bear to see you dead.
You will have nothing of it all to bear:
You will not even know that in your bed
You lie alone. You will not miss my head
Beside you on the pillow: you will rest
So soft in the grave you will not miss my breast.
But I--but I--Your pillow and your place--
And only the darkness laid against my face,
And only my anguish pressed against my side--
Thank God, thank God, that it was you who died!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Thru The Eyes Of A Spouse
I recall the nights that I laid in bed
With the pillow propped under my head.
Looking at this woman lying next to me
And how our love came to be.
Problems we have had our share
But for each other we’ve always been there.
Life makes love difficult to cope with
It pulls and yanks at your heart
Trying to tear the walls apart.
You struggle every day to make a life
You just want things easier for you and your wife.
There are times you feel like you’re drowning
And gasping for air, and people
see you but they don’t care.
They are going thru life the same as you
And they don’t know just what to do.
So you resign yourself to the fact
That the clock, you can not turn back.
So you pick up your head and look
Deep into the eyes of your wife
And thank GOD that you have someone
With whom to share your life.
The beauty and love in her eyes
Never seem to fade away
And it gets stronger every passing day.
poem by Louis Rams
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Her Blessings At Death (story)
(STORY) (5/22/12)
She was laying in her hospice bed
She knew in a short time she would be dead
She had no fear of death you see
She waited for it patiently.
She knew she lived a good long life
She was a daughter, a sister, a mother, a wife.
Regrets- she knew she had none
GOD had blessed her with a wonderful son
A faith so strong in GOD above
And she showered family and friends with tenderness and love.
She was loved by everyone around
In her spirit and heart true love they found.
The most gentlest person you'd ever want to meet
Knowing her was such a treat.
When she went for her physical that year
The doctors found what they feared
A cancer cell growing so rapidly
It was something they did not foresee.
She showed no signs as many do
But they knew her life was through.
Her family was with her 24/7
They knew soon she'd be in heaven.
The hospital corridors were filled with people
And bells were ringing from all the steeples.
She was not a woman of fortune and fame
And of nothing in her life did she feel ashamed.
Just a loving heart so pure and true
That she shared it with everyone she knew.
They say she died in her sleep, as everyone began to weep.
But before she died - she had told her son
"tell the world- LOVES JUST BEGUN'.
poem by Louis Rams
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You Can't Blame Louis
One small town boy whose dreams were higher
Thought up a plan
To be a city man
Out in the world
Bright burned the fire
Through every door
He was so sure
Than he ran into a problem
He heard the voice inside him say
"do you believe that what you have is what you need"
You can't blame louis
Oh, louis
He found a girl
His heart's desire
She was the first
She quenched the thirst
His social whirl
Did not inspire
Her live divine
Soon lost its shine
Now he's counting every hour
Wondering where she spent the night
She doesn't slow, it seems he'll never know
You can't blame louis
Oh, louis
You can't blame louis
Oh, louis
Take a day and trace a thought to where it all began
Wondering how you felt at every turn
Even thought reality was not part of the plan
By reaching out you lit the spark forever
Louis thought he'd find the answer
In a world that has no soul
He moved on, to learn onother song
You can't blame louis
Oh, louis
song performed by by Level 42
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Save The Children
Save the children
Look around you and what do you see
Death, destruction, and misery.
It is not much that they ask
It is gods will and part of our task.
Save the children and let them be free
To live their lives as we.
Give them hope- don’t let them despair
Give them a helping hand and show them that we care.
As their elders we are supposed to teach them what’s right.
Give up your arms- give up the fight.
For when we are gone the problems will still be there
Affection and love is still very dear.
Save the children and let them see
That they no longer have to live in the worlds misery.
Hungry for food and hungry for love
The bird of peace is the snow white dove.
They are hiding in mountaintops and trembling with fear
Not seeing love and showing no tears.
They learn to live in this country torn apart
And in the process they lose their heart.
Is this the way we want our children to be
Grownups fighting and butchering one another
Mother, wife, sister, and brother.
Save the children is all god asks
poem by Louis Rams
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The Vision
getting ready to go to bed
a vision came into my head
the vision was quite blurry
so i tried to hurry.
fearful that i might fall
to my wife i did call
as she came running to me
the vision became clear as can be
it was the face of MOTHER MARY
telling me that her son was in pain
seeing all the suffering and all the shame.
the shame that mankinds faith is dwinderling.
and the economy is creating so many doubts
and now is the time to put the doubt out.
so he is coming to rekindle the faith
that seems to be lost
by opening their hearts to a new beginning.
and to show you that through him you are winning.
he has never given up on you
and that's what we should do.
and as this vision started to fade
in me- a new heart was made.
and now that he has rekindled my life
i'll go to bed with my wife
and sleep as comfortable as can be
for i know he's always with me.
i praise the LORD up above
for he has eternal love.
he will never let me down
for he has turned my life around.
poem by Louis Rams
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Louis
He speaks with a very strong accent though his English seems quite good to me
The man from the fishing Village in Malta by the Mediterranean sea
He likes to go rod and line fishing and cast his line from rocks on the shore
In the low tide in the early evening he fishes for two hours or more.
Louis is a likeable old fellow he looks quite well for eighty two
Though his life has never been easy and his sorrows he has been through
He does his best for to keep active he tends his garden every day
And nothing in life to him has come easy his gray hair he has earned one might say.
His wife Rina died in her mid sixties going back some fifteen years ago
She was suffering from stomach cancer her end it was painful and slow
For four decades they were together and he loved her his devoted wife
The final parting for him was heartbreaking though he still got on with his life.
Their only child Paul died in Vietnam in the sixties their cross of grief heavy to bear
A handsome young man in his early twenties with brown eyes and wavy brown hair
His comrades tell of how he died bravely but that of little comfort to them
Their son's loss to them was heartbreaking and for many years they grieved for him.
Louis lives in his seaside cottage with Blue his dog a Kelpie x Heeler cross
And though the death of his son and then his wife to him was a heartbreaking loss
He still gets on with life and with living and he goes fishing every second day
And it can be truly said of him that he has earned his hair of gray.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Her First Fruit Of Love
The beauty of beauties and the handsome of handsomeness,
The romance of your romance lies through your legs;
The sweet of sweets and the passion of passions,
The romance of your romance lies through your breasts;
So incline your ear to my poems and listen to the words of the wise,
For her first fruit of love is all that i ate.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Louis Xvi Of France
louis sixteenth of france
louis sixteenth of franc
louis sixteenth of fran
louis sixteenth of fra
louis sixteenth of fr
louis sixteenth of f
louis sixteenth of
louis sixteenth o
louis sixteenth
louis sixteent
louis sixteen
louis sixtee
louis sixte
louis sixt
louis six
louis si
louis s
louis
loui
lou
lo
l
poem by Nicolas Grenier
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To Henry the Fifth
My youth was passing, Sire, whilst you among
The cradle-wrappings slept; my morning-song
Sung o'er your pillow. Winds of heaven have thrown
Us both, since then, on heights apart and lone.
Heights! For misfortune drear, our destined land,
So thunder-scarred, a-nigh to heaven must stand!
The north and south are nearer than our ways
Are near to one another; and Fate lays
The purple round you, and has not withheld
Our France's sceptre-dazzlements of eld.
I, crowned with silver hairs, say, praising you,
“Well done!” That man is to his manhood true
Who bravely, at his own behest, will do
High deeds of self -undoing; will forego
All, all, save immemorial Honour; though
She seem to earthlier eyes a phantom, more
Will follow her (as erst in Elsinore
One faithful heart obeyed the beckoning ghost),
Nor stoop to buy a kingdom at her cost.
That you are aught save honest, none may say;
The Lily must be white, all white, for aye.
A Bourbon can but reign as Capet's heir,
Or waive his kingship. History is aware
Of wrecks enough, of changing battles' din,
Of those who grandly lose, or basely win!
Better with honour, Prince, the throne to quit.
Than, where St. Louis sat, dishonoured sit!
poem by Mary Hannay Foott
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Three Graves
HOW did he live, this dead man here,
With the temple above his grave?
He lived as a great one, from cradle to bier
He was nursed in luxury, trained in pride,
When the wish was born, it was gratified;
Without thanks he took, without heed he gave.
The common man was to him a clod
From whom he was far as a demigod.
His duties? To see that his rents were paid;
His pleasure? To know that the crowd obeyed.
His pulse, if you felt it, throbbed apart,
With a separate stroke from the people's heart.
But whom did he love, and whom did he bless?
Was the life of him more than a man's, or less?
I know not. He died. There was none to blame,
And as few to weep; but these marbles came
For the temple that rose to preserve his name!
How did he live, that other dead man,
From the graves apart and alone?
As a great one, too? Yes, this was one
Who lived to labor and study and plan.
The earth's deep thought he loved to reveal;
He banded the breast of the land with steel;
The thread of his toil he never broke;
He filled the cities with wheels and smoke,
And workers by day and workers by night,
For the day was too short for his vigor's flight.
Too firm was he to be feeling and giving:
For labor, for gain, was a life worth living.
He worshiped Industry, dreamt of her, sighed for her.
Potent he grew by her, famous he died for her.
They say he improved the world in his time,
That his mills and mines were a work sublime.
When he died—the laborers rested, and sighed;
Which was it—because he had lived, or died?
And how did he live, that dead man there,
In the country churchyard laid?
O, he? He came for the sweet field air;
He was tired of the town, and he took no pride
In its fashion or fame. He returned and died
In the place he loved, where a child he played
With those who have knelt by his grave and prayed.
He ruled no serfs, and he knew no pride;
He was one with the workers side by side;
He hated a mill, and a mine, and a town,
With their fever of misery, struggle, renown;
He could never believe but a man was made
For a nobler end than- the glory of trade.
For the youth he mourned with an endless pity
Who were cast like snow on the streets of the city.
He was weak, maybe; but he lost no friend;
Who loved him once, loved on to the end.
He mourned all selfish and shrewd endeavor;
But he never injured a weak one—never.
When censure was passed, he was kindly dumb;
He was never so wise but a fault would come;
He was never so old that he failed to enjoy
The games and the dreams he had loved when a boy.
He erred, and was sorry; but never drew
A trusting heart from the pure and true.
When friends look back from the years to be,
God grant they may say such things of me.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Without Christ
Living without Jesus is hell.
Without him, you will fail.
He died by cross and nails
and saved us from the flames of hell.
Christ did not put up a fight.
He showed us that we have to forgive in order to live right.
He could have called his angels to save him from this wrath.
But his purpose was set and that was that...
He loved us long before we knew him,
and long before our existence.
His suffering would save many
and that's why he refused resistance.
On earth we complain about our pain
but nothing compares to the salvation we can gain.
His suffering was worse than ours,
but he knew that we would be saved.
Satan cheered as Christ died
while Mary and the others cried.
But he resurected than, and he will
be back... Amen! ! !
poem by Garnett Angel Loving Soul
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The Only Thing I Fear
My thoughts on an afterlife are never clear
The thought of dying is the only thing I fear
But to the reaper's scythe I too must fall
The journey through life does end for us all
Each day we live each day the end for us more near
And of those who died brave we often read of and hear
But it matters none to them now how they died
Or if their fame has travelled far and wide
Why weep for me I am not worth a tear
But if you respect me respect what I loved dear
To immortal Mother Nature respect show
She is the only God I claim to know
There will be life long after we are gone
And Mother Nature will be living on.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Soul Of The Anzac
THE form that was mine was brown and hard,
And thewed and muscled, and tall and straight;
And often it rode from the station yard,
And often it passed through the stockyard gate;
And often it paused on the grey skyline
'Twixt mulga and mallee or gum and pine.
There was never a task that it would not do;
There was never a labour it left undone;
But ever and always it battled through,
And took the rest that its toil had won,
And slept the sleep of the weary-limbed
Till the stars grew pale and the planets dimmed.
The form that was mine is mine no more,
For low it lies in a soldier's grave
By an alien sea on an alien shore;
And over its sleep no wattles wave,
And stars unseen on their journey creep;
But it wakes no more from its dreamless sleep.
O Mother of mine, what is is best!
And our graves are dug at the hour of birth;
And the form that slept on your shielding breast
Sleeps soundly here in the mothering earth.
And dust to dust! When our part is played,
Does it matter much where the change is made?
O Heart that was mine, you were brave and strong —
How strong, how brave, let another tell!
You loved the lilt of the bushman's song,
And loved the land that he loved so well,
And loved — ah, well! — as well she knew,
The sweet, white girl who was all to you.
O Heart of mine, though your love was great,
Yet a greater than Love is lord of man;
The rose-path wound to the garden gate,
And there the track to The Peaks began;
And though storm threatened and skies grew black,
You dared the menace and took the track.
O Heart, when the cliffs were hard to climb,
How sweet was home, and her eyes how sweet!
How sweet the moments when Love kept time,
And you and her heart gave beat for beat,
And the waters sang, and the sun-rays glanced,
And the flowers laughed out, and the saplings danced.
Yet better, O Heart, to do as you did
Than to lie on her breast, as your love-gift lies;
For how can Love prosper when Honour lies hid,
Ashamed to look Love fair and square in the eyes?
Though grave-mould be round you, grey grasses above,
You live, and shall live, evermore in her love!
O Man that I was, you were foe to Death;
For Life was fair to you — wonderful, rare;
You had your being and drew your breath
In ample spaces of earth and air;
While ever and always, by night and day,
Bright Promise pointed the Golden Way.
And yet 'twas your choice to be this thing —
A young man dead on an alien shore,
Where the immemorial surges sing
As once they sang in the days of yore,
When Greek and Trojan matched their might
And Troy shone down upon the fight.
O Man that I was, well done! Well done!
You chose the nobler, the better part;
Though a mother weep for her soldier son,
And a fair, sweet girl be sad at heart,
Yet the soul of your country glows with pride
At the deed you did and the death you died.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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My Real Goddess
Today my mother
Came to my house
With lots of blessing
And full of good wishing
To live long
Happy and healthy
Progressive and wealthy
My mother
My sweet mother
My beautiful mother
My loving mother
My real goddess
My ever goodness
My first lady I loved
My life my mother
My soul my mother
My God-gift my mother
My pride my mother
My aim my mother
My teacher my mother
My friend my mother
My preacher my mother
My daughter's face look-like my mother
My daughter my little mother
O the Absolute Almighty
Give me my mother
Again and again
And again and again
My mother
Only my mother.
poem by Dr. P. K. Verma
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Isle Of Enchantment
Isle of enchantment (Puerto Rico) (3/15/12)
It was the isle of enchantment where I fell in love
The isle where dreams flourish and grow
And your heart is with the one you know.
Where two hearts will become as one
Underneath the Caribbean sun.
Love is in the air and on the beach too
That is where I fell in love with you.
The isle of enchantment called PUERTO RICO
The island that you must get to know.
The beaches with their crystal clear waters
And beautiful white sands
Will make you feel as if you're in the promised land.
How can I not be in love with you?
When you make me feel whole
How can I not be in love with you?
When you touch my inner soul.
In you hope I found- and you turned my life around
You have shown me what it is to live
And to you my love I give.
I never knew what love was before
Till you opened up that door.
The moment I held you in my arms
And kissed you passionately
Right then I knew- another one there can never be.
The isle of enchantment captured my heart and soul
And with you is where I belong.
poem by Louis Rams
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Farewell
FAREWELL, and when forth
I through the Golden Gates to Golden Isles
Steer without smiling, through the sea of smiles,
Isle upon isle, in the seas of the south,
Isle upon island, sea upon sea,
Why should I sail, why should the breeze?
I have been young, and I have counted friends.
A hopeless sail I spread, too late, too late.
Why should I from isle to isle
Sail, a hopeless sailor?
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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