Sonnet XLIX: How Long
How long shall I in mine affliction mourn,
A burden to myself, distress'd in mind?
When shall my interdicted hopes return
From out despair wherein they live confin'd?
When shall her troubled brow charg'd with disdain
Reveal the treasure which her smiles impart?
When shall my faith the happiness attain
To break the ice that hath congeal'd her heart?
Unto herself, herself my love doth summon,
If love in her hath any power to move,
And let her tell me as she is a woman
Whether my faith hath not deserv'd her love.
I know she cannot but must needs confess it,
Yet deigns not with one simple sign t'express it.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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Related quotes
Mothers Day2007
She hath my heart, she is my mum.
She hath my heart, she is my only, she is my one.
She hath my heart, though rough winds may blow.
She hath my heart, still her love will flow, her love will always show.
She hath my heart, I thank my lucky stars.
She hath my heart and i have hers.
She hath my heart, i long for her presence.
She hath my heart, her name is essence.
She hath my heart and forever she will.
Lifetimes will come and go, i will love her still
She hath my heart, this fact i cant conceal
Our bond is like sentiment you just cant kill
She hath my heart in times of sorrow.
She hath my heart, yesterday, today and tomorrow.
She hath my heart, my voice will sing.
She hath my heart, she makes the bell in my heart ring.
She hath my heart, in times of trouble.
She wont stumble no i will not let her crumble.
She hath my heart in each and every way
And my love for her grows with each day
She hath my heart for we were once one.
She hath my heart, the heart of the boy inside the man
I hath her heart, the heart we once shared.
Though separated in body the hearts still paired.
She hath my heart i need her near.
She hath my heart my mama dear
She hath my heart and she already knows
In a world of thorny bushes she stands out like rose
She hath my heart for she is always by my side
When the sun sets she is my light, she is my guide.
poem by Soul Child
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Sonnet LX: Lo, Here the Impost
Lo, here the impost of a faith unfeigning
That love hath paid, and her disdain extorted,
Behold the message of my just complaining
That shows the world how much my grief imported.
These tributary plaints fraught with desire,
I send those eyes the cabinets of love;
The Paradise whereto my hopes aspire
From out this hell, which mine afflictions prove.
Wherein I thus do live cast down from mirth,
Pensive alone, none but despair about me;
My joys abortive, perish'd at their birth,
My cares long liv'd and will not die without me.
This is my state, and Delia's heart is such;
I say no more; I fear I said too much.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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He Hath Given Me Knowledge
'Behold, He hath heard my cry by day,
And He hath given me knowledge by visions in the night time.'*
He hath too ensured a test of my faith, by way
Of separation from the object of my adorement, until the right time!
Were I left to my own devices, I would surely fail;
Because He loves me so very much, my Heavenly Father saw to avail
Me with the requisite strength of mind and faith of heart
To bide with patience, and await my true love's impart.
I would bide forever, if but rewarded with one day;
No matter of time, nor of distance, could cause my faith's allay;
I do not let doubt be; I carry not, worry;
I covet not, more devoutly; I need not, hurry;
Where and when He is assured that we are prime-
Then and only then, shall it be the right time!
*Book of Mormon,2 Nephi, Ch.4
-Maurice Harris,10 December 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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My Beloved's Ardor
One day, not so long since passed, I heard those words, three-
I knew then and there, I had gained my beloved's ardor, truly!
It is I that she doth adore, she did share with me, the same;
As my heart surely hath been thieved-so too her's-I, amorously to blame!
Sikerly I know what the proffer of her heart doth truly mean-
To covet and honor this calling shall I; No finer glory hath my mind's eye e'er seen!
Two worlds of wonder, each universally unique,
Hath once again come together and do seek
What assuredly is the solitary mate for each other's soul,
Looking to reunite with their hearts, which the other stole!
I have seen and do attest to its Empyrean truth;
To agnize like, you need not seek attestation nor even sleuth!
As water seeks its own level, so too doth love, indeed;
Once a love's true compeer hath been met, it must accede!
Maurice Harris,23 May 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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True Beauty
May I find a woman fair,
And her mind as clear as air,
If her beauty go alone,
'Tis to me as if't were none.
May I find a woman rich,
And not of too high a pitch;
If that pride should cause disdain,
Tell me, lover, where's thy gain?
May I find a woman wise,
And her falseliood not disguise;
Hath she wit as she hath will,
Double arm'd she is to ill.
May I find a woman kind,
And not wavering like the wind:
How should I call that love mine,
When 'tis his, and his, and thine?
May I find a woman true,
There is Bettutv's fairest hue,
There is Beauty, Love, and Wit:
Happy he can compass it.
poem by Francis Beaumont
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Who Hath The Courage?
Who hath courage? Not the hero
Leading in the strife,
To receive a nation's plaudits,
For his waste of life.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He alone who dares
Act up to his own convictions,
And the right declares.
Who hath courage? Not the tyrant
Boasting of his skill,
To enslave and bind his fellow
At his simple will.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He that doth proclaim,
Unto all their right to freedom,
Every man the same.
Who hath courage? Not the sober,
Or untempted one,
Who hath never had his stomach
Eaten out by rum.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He who though he may
Have been using poison freely,
Throws the cup away.
Who hath courage? Not the daring,
Reckless pugilist,
Who for wager smites a brother,
With uplifted fist.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He that won't resent
Every little insult given
With a base intent.
poem by Benjamin Cutler Clark
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Hymn 14
The triumph of faith or, Christ's unchangeable love.
Rom. 8:33ff.
Who shall the Lord's elect condemn?
'Tis God that justifies their souls;
And mercy, like a mighty stream,
O'er all their sins divinely rolls.
Who shall adjudge the saints to hell?
'Tis Christ that suffered in their stead;
And, the salvation to fulfil,
Behold him rising from the dead!
He lives! he lives and sits above,
For ever interceding there:
Who shall divide us from his love?
Or what should tempt us to despair?
Shall persecution, or distress,
Famine, or sword, or nakedness?
He that hath loved us bears us through,
And makes us more than conquerors too.
Faith hath an overcoming power;
It triumphs in the dying hour:
Christ is our life, our joy, our hope,
Nor can we sink with such a prop.
Not all that men on earth can do,
Nor powers on high, nor powers below,
Shall cause his mercy to remove,
Or wean our hearts from Christ our love.
poem by Isaac Watts
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There Was A Time, I Need Not Name
There was a time, I need not name,
Since it will ne'er forgotten be,
When all our feelings were the same
As still my soul hath been to thee.
And from that hour when first thy tongue
Confess'd a love which equall'd mine,
Though many a grief my heart hath wrung,
Unknown, and thus unfelt, by thine,
None, none hath sunk so deep as this---
To think how all that love hath flown;
Transient as every faithless kiss,
But transient in thy breast alone.
And yet my heart some solace knew,
When late I heard thy lips declare,
In accents once imagined true,
Remembrance of the days that were.
Yes! my adored, yet most unkind!
Though thou wilt never love again,
To me 'tis doubly sweet to find
Remembrance of that love remain.
Yes! 'tis a glorious thought to me,
Nor longer shall my soul repine,
Whate'er thou art or e'er shalt be,
Thou hast been dearly, solely mine.
Hark, All Ye Lovely Saints Above
Hark, all ye lovely saints above,
Diana hath agreed with Love,
His fiery weapon to remove. Fa la.
Do you not see
How they agree?
Then cease, fair ladies; why weep ye? Fa la.
See, see, your mistress bids you cease,
And welcome Love, with love's increase;
Diana hath procured your peace. Fa la.
Cupid hath sworn
His bow forlorn
To break and burn, ere ladies mourn. Fa la.
poem by Thomas Weelkes
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The Recital Of My Heart's Glory
I am bereft of sentiment worthy of mine own wondrous emotion
As my verity, at long last, hath given cause for soul's devotion;
As though predestined, reality meets with my heart's fanciful intuition,
My oft-imagined, life-long somniation hath come to wonderful fruition!
Once, as a child I did glimpse same, yet 'twas fleeting, and I, not prime;
Now, as a man, I bear witness to this grace again-this beauty, sublime!
For every man or monad thought inviolable, there exists impuissance-
Mine hath the form of a dichotomy, as she exudes with pleasance!
Nary doth a moment fleet whence thought is not consumed with such-
Periodically, I must cause remind, lest I should think it all, too much!
All this, yet still, an adjoining hath not been, for years, score-
To muse, whensoever same comes again-all, and evermore!
Hath there ever been such an eminent, empyrean, story?
Lo, there hath been-and it is surely the recital of my heart's glory!
Maurice Harris,1 December 2009
poem by Maurice Harris
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The Spring
Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost
Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost
Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream
Upon the silver lake or crystal stream;
But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth,
And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth
To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree
The drowsy cuckoo and the humble-bee.
Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring
In triumph to the world the youthful spring.
The valleys, hills, and woods in rich array
Welcome the coming of the long'd-for May.
Now all things smile; only my love doth lour;
Nor hath the scalding noonday sun the power
To melt that marble ice, which still doth hold
Her heart congeal'd, and makes her pity cold.
The ox, which lately did for shelter fly
Into the stall, doth now securely lie
In open fields; and love no more is made
By the fireside, but in the cooler shade
Amyntas now doth with his Chloris sleep
Under a sycamore, and all things keep
Time with the season; only she doth carry
June in her eyes, in her heart January.
poem by Thomas Carew
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A Lyric
My lady love lives far away,
And oh my heart is sad by day,
And ah my tears fall fast by night,
What may I do in such a plight.
Why, miles grow few when love is fleet,
And love, you know, hath flying feet;
Break off thy sighs and witness this,
How poor a thing mere distance is.
My love knows not I love her so,
And would she scorn me, did she know?
How may the tale I would impart
Attract her ear and storm her heart?
Calm thou the tempest in my breast,
Who loves in silence loves the best,
But bide thy time, she will awake,
No night so dark but morn will break.
But though my heart so strongly yearn,
My lady loves me not in turn,
How may I win the blest reply
That my void heart shall satisfy.
Love breedeth love, be thou but true,
And soon thy love shall love thee, too;
If Fate hath meant you heart for heart,
There's naught may keep you twain apart.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Grace Of God
It is but for the Grace of God I pen this-
Not so very long ago, I was asked to begin this
Life anew-as though one of His Children, reborn;
Now, I am Blessed with proof, which doth adorn
Mine own, once-ceased, fragile heart;
I know this to be His way to impart
To me and the rest of the world entire, a message:
As for hope, faith, and love-He is the last vestige
Of all that is pure and good in this world-
In His own image, mine shall e'er be unfurled
For all to see, as means by which to recompense this wondrous gift
Of new-found life, now and ever causal to the uplift
Of mine heart, mind, and inspired soul;
I know not if I've accomplished same, yet, this is my goal!
It is but through the Grace of God, and God alone
That I possess the very strength I do now own;
Prescience of same hath been gifted to all
Since the day when I nearly answered His Call
To come Home, at long last, to be among
His other Children, where I belong;
I was not ready; my presence was not then needed-
Though His Call I would have gladly heeded.
His purpose was to ready me for what is to come,
So that when all seemed to be lost, I would not succumb
To weakness and despair when I need be strong-
Nor to impatience, where the road is long.
'Thank You Heavenly Father, for the love You saw to provide;
For the Strength You gifted; for how You saw to decide
That I was so very important that You would guide me-
Not from above, in back, or in front-but beside me! '
-Maurice Harris,19 March 2011
poem by Maurice Harris
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Sir Richard's Song
(A. D. 1066)
I followed my Duke ere I was a lover,
To take from England fief and fee;
But now this game is the other way over--
But now England hath taken me!
I had my horse, my shield and banner,
And a boy's heart, so whole and free;
But now I sing in another manner--
But now England hath taken me!
As for my Father in his tower,
Asking news of my ship at sea,
He will remember his own hour--
Tell him England hath taken me!
As for my Mother in her bower,
That rules my Father so cunningly,
She will remember a maiden's power--
Tell her England hath taken me!
As for my Brother in Rouen City,
A nimble and naughty' page is he,
But he will come to suffer and pity--
Tell him England hath taken me!
As for my little Sister waiting
In the pleasant orchards of Normandie,
Tell her youth is the time for mating--
Tell her England hath taken me!
As for my comrades in camp and highway
That lift their eyebrows scornfully,
Tell them their way is not my way--
Tell them England hath taken me!
Kings and Princes and Barons famed,
Knights and Captains in your degree;
Hear me a little before I am blamed--
Seeing England hath taken me!
Howso great man's strength be reckoned,
There are two things he cannot flee.
Love is the first, and Death is the second-
And Love in England hath taken me!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Sonnet 23: As an unperfect actor on the stage
As an unperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put beside his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart,
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might.
O, let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love, and look for recompense
More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.
O, learn to read what silent love hath writ,
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Phillis I
My Phillis hath the morning sun
At first to look upon her;
And Phillis hath morn-waking birds
Her risings still to honour.
My Phillis hath prime-feather'd flowers,
That smile when she treads on them;
And Phillis hath a gallant flock,
That leaps since she doth own them.
But Phillis hath too hard a heart,
Alas that she should have it!
It yields no mercy to desert,
Nor grace to those that crave it.
poem by Thomas Lodge
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Phillis 01
MY Phillis hath the morning sun
At first to look upon her;
And Phillis hath morn-waking birds
Her risings still to honour.
My Phillis hath prime-feather'd flowers,
That smile when she treads on them;
And Phillis hath a gallant flock,
That leaps since she doth own them.
But Phillis hath too hard a heart,
Alas that she should have it!
It yields no mercy to desert,
Nor grace to those that crave it.
poem by Thomas Lodge
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Sonnet III: If So It Hap
If so it hap this offspring of my care,
These fatal Anthems, sad and mournful Songs,
Come to their view, who like afflicted are;
Let them yet sigh their own, and moan my wrongs.
But untouch'd hearts, with unaffected eye,
Approach not to behold so great distress:
Clear-sighted you, soon note what is awry,
Whilst blinded ones mine errors never guess.
You blinded souls whom youth and errors lead,
You outcast Eaglets, dazzled with your sun:
Ah you, and none but you my sorrows read;
You best can judge the wrongs that she hath done.
That she hath done, the motive of my pain,
Who, whilst I love, doth kill me with disdain.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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Of Pearls And Stars
The pearly treasures of the sea,
The lights that spatter heaven above,
More precious than these wonders are
My heart-of-hearts filled with your love.
The ocean's power, the heavenly sights
Cannot outweigh a love filled heart.
And sparkling stars or glowing pearls
Pale as love flashes, beams and darts.
So, little, youthful maiden come
Into my ample, feverish heart
For heaven and earth and sea and sky
Do melt as love has melt my heart.
The following English translation of 'The Sea Hath its Pearls' was composed by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882).
The Sea Hath Its Pearls
The sea hath its pearls,
The heaven hath its stars;
But my heart, my heart,
My heart hath its love.
Great are the sea, and the heaven;
Yet greater is my heart,
And fairer than pearls or stars
Flashes and beams my love.
Thou little, youthful maiden,
Come unto my great heart;
My heart, and the sea and the heaven
Are melting away with love!
poem by Heinrich Heine
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As You Came from the Holy Land
As you came from the holy land
Of Walsingham,
Met you not with my true love
By the way as you came?
'How shall I know your true love,
That have met many one,
I went to the holy land,
That have come, that have gone?'
She is neither white, nor brown,
But as the heavens fair;
There is none hath a form so divine
In the earth, or the air.
'Such a one did I meet, good sir,
Such an angelic face,
Who like a queen, like a nymph, did appear
By her gait, by her grace.'
She hath left me here all alone,
All alone, as unknown,
Who sometimes did me lead with herself,
And me loved as her own.
'What's the cause that she leaves you alone,
And a new way doth take,
Who loved you once as her own,
And her joy did you make?'
I have lov'd her all my youth;
But now old, as you see,
Love likes not the falling fruit
From the withered tree.
Know that Love is a careless child,
And forgets promise past;
He is blind, he is deaf when he list,
And in faith never fast.
His desire is a dureless content,
And a trustless joy:
He is won with a world of despair,
And is lost with a toy.
Of womenkind such indeed is the love,
Or the word love abus'd,
Under which many childish desires
And conceits are excus'd.
But true love is a durable fire,
In the mind ever burning,
Never sick, never old, never dead,
From itself never turning.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
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