Kisses
Cupid, if storying legends tell aright,
Once framed a rich elixer of delight.
A chalice o'er love-kindled flames he fixed,
And in it nectar and ambrosia mixed:
With these the magic dews which evening brings,
Brushed from the Idalian star by fairy wings:
Each tender pledge of sacred faith he joined,
Each gentler pleasure of th' unspotted mind--
Day-dreams, whose tints with sportive brightness glow,
And hope, the blameless parasite of woe.
The eyeless chemist heard the process rise,
The steamy chalice bubbled up in sighs;
Sweet sounds transpired as when the enamoured dove
Pours the soft murmuring of responsive love.
The finished work might envy vainly blame,
And 'kisses' was the precious compound's name.
With half, the god his Cyprian mother blest,
And breathed on Sara's lovelier lips the rest.
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Related quotes
Holy Baptism
Where is it mothers learn their love? -
In every Church a fountain springs
O'er which th' Eternal Dove
Hovers out softest wings.
What sparkles in that lucid flood
Is water, by gross mortals eyed:
But seen by Faith, 'tis blood
Out of a dear Friend's side.
A few calm words of faith and prayer,
A few bright drops of holy dew,
Shall work a wonder there
Earth's charmers never knew.
O happy arms, where cradled lies,
And ready for the Lord's embrace,
That precious sacrifice,
The darling of His grace!
Blest eyes, that see the smiling gleam
Upon the slumbering features glow,
When the life-giving stream
Touches the tender brow!
Or when the holy cross is signed,
And the young soldier duly sworn,
With true and fearless mind
To serve the Virgin-born.
But happiest ye, who sealed and blest
Back to your arms your treasure take,
With Jesus' mark impressed
To nurse for Jesus' sake:
To whom--as if in hallowed air
Ye knelt before some awful shrine -
His innocent gestures wear
A meaning half divine:
By whom Love's daily touch is seen
In strengthening form and freshening hue,
In the fixed brow serene,
The deep yet eager view. -
Who taught thy pure and even breath
To come and go with such sweet grace?
Whence thy reposing Faith,
Though in our frail embrace?
O tender gem, and full of Heaven!
Not in the twilight stars on high,
Not in moist flowers at even
See we our God so nigh.
Sweet one, make haste and know Him too,
Thine own adopting Father love,
That like thine earliest dew
Thy dying sweets may prove.
poem by John Keble
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Banished Fairy
Banished Fairy
I have given
the loyal
Servants their
day off
Because I want
to think softly
about you baby
My mother is worried
About the state
of my mental health
And I can't help
Myself because
I have my sights
Firmly fixed on you
You yummy orphan of
The clouds
You alone son of Heaven
You rule my mind
Banished Fairy
I am all alone
by myself tonight
Raise your great wings
And fly to me fairy
Banished Fairy dear
I have time with
Which together we can
Rise again and send your
banishment into
Permanent banishment
That's how much I dare
The surmountable
Challenges facing you
Because I love you Fairy
Banished Fairy
I am waiting for you
To raise your wings and
come and sweep me off
My feet and carry me
Away on the wings of
Your beautiful dreams
To the moon of
Your wonderful dreamland
that lies so far away
In the far flung dream
horizons of your love
strewn holy Fairyland
of my dream fairy
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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To A Star
Sweet star, which gleaming o'er the darksome scene
Through fleecy clouds of silvery radiance fliest,
Spanglet of light on evening's shadowy veil,
Which shrouds the day-beam from the waveless lake,
Lighting the hour of sacred love; more sweet
Than the expiring morn-star’s paly fires:--
Sweet star! When wearied Nature sinks to sleep,
And all is hushed,--all, save the voice of Love,
Whose broken murmurings swell the balmy blast
Of soft Favonius, which at intervals
Sighs in the ear of stillness, art thou aught but
Lulling the slaves of interest to repose
With that mild, pitying gaze? Oh, I would look
In thy dear beam till every bond of sense
Became enamoured--
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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To Seraphina
The wanton's charms, however bright,
Are like the false illusive light
Whose flattering unauspicious blaze
To precipices oft betrays:
But that sweet ray your beauties dart,
Which clears the mind, and cleans the heart,
Is like the sacred queen of night,
Who pours a lovely gentle light
Wide o'er the dark, by wanderers blest,
Conducting them to peace and rest.
A vicious love depraves the mind,
'Tis anguish, guilt, and folly joined;
But Seraphina's eyes dispense
A mild and gracious influence;
Such as in visions angels shed
Around the heaven-illumined head.
To love thee, Seraphina, sure
Is to be tender, happy, pure;
'Tis from low passions to escape,
And woo bright virtue's fairest shape;
'Tis ecstasy with wisdom joined;
And heaven infused into the mind.
poem by James Thomson
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I Envy Nothing But One
I don’t envy the angels with wings who can fly
I’ve been soaring in the beautiful sky of your love
I don’t envy the beauty of the rainbow
You’ve made me the most beautiful woman in your love
I don’t envy the freedom of the dolphins swimming in the ocean
I’ve been swimming in the ocean of your loving eyes
I don’t envy Shakespeare for his love poems
I’ve become the greatest poet since I met you
I don’t envy Romeo’s faith to Juliet
You’ve never turned your heart from me, not even once
I don’t envy the softness of the dew the morning has
You’ve been kissing me gently with your tender lips
I don’t envy Monalisa’s wonderful smile Leonardo has
I’ve got one of mine on your face
I don’t envy the sweet sound a harp has
I’ve got a sweeter one when you whisper in my ears
I envy nothing but one
The way you love and make me feel this way
poem by Santi Dewi Sihombing
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City of Love
Ode to joy, from the chalice filled with wine, from the chalice filled with light.
Ode to darkness, the shadows dress confess the blackness, confined to trials and tribulations, we seek the hour of consumation. We seek the divinity, by candles, prayers and charity. The chalice of love, the city of love beside the sea.
Ode to the chalice filled with light, ode to the wind, carrying the breath
of psalms, upon ashes smeared on palms. Ode, to this light, to the blood raised in wine, the cross and loss, divine, the holy shroud of white.
White Feather
Her smile is gracious as God's stars that nightly fill the sky,
As sweet as water when it's sparce and when one's throat is dry...
As precious as the rainbow's glow, as in an arc it spreads
And like a waterfall in flow that stirs the waterbeds...
Her hair is dark as ravens' wings, yet when the light is right,
There's silver there like angels' wings that perfectly delight...
A small white feather decorates just like a totem pole,
As from a dove that never hates, with love its constant goal...
Her lips are soft and sweet to kiss, as if to say, 'Thank you! '
As if expressing utter bliss, romance forever new...
They make her heartfelt feelings known, no secrets can they hide.
They say, 'Don't leave me all alone with yearnings here inside...'
Her heart is tender as the doe, that walks in innocence...
Two hundred ponies to and fro, her marriage recompense...
And yet her heart she cannot sell, but only give away...
This Indian Princess, known so well, they named, 'Appearing Day'...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Address To Music
OH thou! whose soft, bewitching lyre,
Can lull the sting of pain to rest;
Oh thou! whose warbling notes inspire,
The pensive muse with visions blest;
Sweet music! let thy melting airs
Enhance my joys, and sooth my cares!
Is there enchantment in thy voice,
Thy dulcet harp, thy moving measure;
To bid the mournful mind rejoice,
To raise the fairy form of pleasure?
Yes, heav'nly maid! a charm is thine,
A magic art, a spell divine!
Sweet music! when thy notes we hear,
Some dear remembrance oft they bring,
Of friends belov'd, no longer near,
And days that flew on rapture's wing;
Hours of delight that long are past,
And dreams of joy, too bright to last!
And oft 'tis thine the soul to fire,
With glory's animating flame,
Bid valor's noble sons aspire
To win th' immortal wreath of fame
Thine too, the soft, expressive tones,
That pity, tender pity owns!
Oh harmony! celestial pow'r!
Thou syren of the melting soul!
In sorrow's reign, in pleasure's hour,
My heart shall own thy blest control;
And ever let thy moving airs,
Enhance my joys and sooth my cares!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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All About Hope
Cold, but not miserable,
alone, but not lonely, this
day is all about hope –
hoping you will come home
early
Hope you will have a wonderful
day, hope that the beauty and
love you showed me last night
will fill your being and keep you
safe
Hope that the feeling of delight
that bubbled in me when I heard
your voice, also bubbled in
you…
poem by Louise Tredoux
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Memory of Her
My tender heart speaketh to my mind aloft
‘Think of love till I am tender and soft'
My mind thinketh of all love past
And my heart beats, like my love last
I can remember her shy sweet call
A voice pristine lovelier than all
In it she calls to my hearts eyes
And than tears fall in my song of cries.
Tender and soft my heart beat
The memory of you, our love complete
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Sonnet XXXII. To Melancholy
Written on the banks of the Arun, Oct. 1785.
WHEN latest Autumn spreads her evening veil,
And the grey mists from these dim waves arise,
I love to listen to the hollow sighs,
Through the half-leafless wood that breathes the gale:
For at such hours the shadowy phantom, pale,
Oft seems to fleet before the poet's eyes;
Strange sounds are heard, and mournful melodies,
As of night wanderers, who their woes bewail
Here, by his native stream, at such an hour,
Pity's own Otway I methinks could meet,
And hear his deep sighs swell the sadden'd wind!
O Melancholy!--such thy magic power,
That to the soul these dreams are often sweet,
And sooth the pensive visionary mind!
poem by Charlotte Smith
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Love Sonnet 155 You Built Me Up, Favored By Your Light's Glow
You built me up, favored by your light's glow,
To bask thereat, as world lies at my feet,
I half believe my luck, the times that flow,
Still sweet, even through nights of hale and sleet;
Your tender touch, soft as the evening's dew,
That line petals, yet not wetting through,
Just as suggest, your slier stares, though few,
With fond thoughts, demurely unsaid, but true;
I might, of nectar sip, but not the best,
For what little, have pecks regaled my check,
In swift moments, when hesitate and rest,
The night's goodbye, upon your lovely neck;
……..And sweetest of drinks, to which my tongue dips,
……..Was wine from cup, that has so touched your lips.
.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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Injuries...Self-Inflicted
Injuries…Self-Inflicted
Date: September 4,2011
And while I swim in rivers
Deep as my desire
The fickle flame that warms me
Cannot sustain my fire
A' clinging to the chalice
To wring out every sip
A poison to my spirit
But ambrosia to my lips
I'm haunted by the flavors
Drip, sweetened from the vine
I relish in the torment
And hunger for the wine
This burden, my obsession
Tears loose in bitter flames
To scald the tender longing
That welds me to this game
************************************* ********
Copyright © 2011 Leria Hawkins, All Rights Reserved
poem by Leria Hawkins
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To Sara
One kiss, dear maid! I said and sighed,
Your scorn the little boon denied.
Ah why refuse the blameless bliss?
Can danger lurk within a kiss?
Yon viewless wand'rer of the vale,
The spirit of the western gale,
At morning's break, at evening's close
Inhales the sweetness of the rose
And hovers o'er th' uninjured bloom
Sighing back the soft perfume.
Vigor to the zephyr's wing
Her nectar-breathing kisses fling;
And he the glitter of the dew
Scatters on the rose's hue.
Bashful, lo! she bends her head,
And darts a blush of deeper red!
Too well those lovely lips disclose
The triumphs of the op'ning rose:
O fair! O graceful! bid them prove
As passive to the breath of love.
In tender accents, faint and low,
Well-pleased I hear the whispered 'No!'
The whispered 'No' ---- how little meant!
Sweet falsehood, that endears consent!
For on those lovely lips the while
Dawns the soft relenting smile,
And tempts with feigned dissuasion coy
The gentle violence of joy.
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Seven Years Old
I.
SEVEN white roses on one tree,
Seven white loaves of blameless leaven,
Seven white sails on one soft sea,
Seven white swans on one lake’s lee,
Seven white flowerlike stars in heaven,
All are types unmeet to be
For a birthday’s crown of seven.
II.
Not the radiance of the roses,
Not the blessing of the bread,
Not the breeze that ere day grows is
Fresh for sails and swans, and closes
Wings above the sun’s grave spread,
When the starshine on the snows is
Sweet as sleep on sorrow shed,
III.
Nothing sweetest, nothing best,
Holds so good and sweet a treasure
As the love wherewith once blest
Joy grows holy, grief takes rest,
Life, half tired with hours to measure,
Fills his eyes and lips and breast
With most light and breath of pleasure
IV.
As the rapture unpolluted,
As the passion undefiled,
By whose force all pains heart-rooted
Are transfigured and transmuted,
Recompensed and reconciled,
Through the imperial, undisputed,
Present godhead of a child.
V.
Brown bright eyes and fair bright head,
Worth a worthier crown than this is,
Worth a worthier song instead,
Sweet grave wise round mouth, full fed
With the joy of love, whose bliss is
More than mortal wine and bread,
Lips whose words are sweet as kisses,
VI.
Little hands so glad of giving,
Little heart so glad of love,
Little soul so glad of living,
While the strong swift hours are weaving
Light with darkness woven above,
Time for mirth and time for grieving,
Plume of raven and plume of dove,
VII.
I can give you but a word
Warm with love therein for leaven,
But a song that falls unheard
Yet on ears of sense unstirred
Yet by song so far from heaven,
Whence you came the brightest bird,
Seven years since, of seven times seven.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Farewell To The Muse
Thou Power! who hast ruled me through Infancy's days,
Young offspring of Fancy, 'tis time we should part;
Then rise on the gale this the last of my lays,
The coldest effusion which springs from my heart.
This bosom, responsive to rapture no more,
Shall hush thy wild notes, nor implore thee to sing;
The feelings of childhood, which taught thee to soar,
Are wafted far distant on Apathy's wing.
Though simple the themes of my rude flowing Lyre,
Yet even these themes are departed for ever;
No more beam the eyes which my dream could inspire,
My visions are flown, to return, alas, never!
When drain'd is the nectar which gladdens the bowl,
How vain is the effort delight to prolong!
When cold is the beauty which dwelt in my soul,
What magic of Fancy can lengthen my song?
Can the lips sing of Love in the desert alone,
Of kisses and smiles which they now must resign?
Or dwell with delight on the hours that are flown?
Ah, no! for those hours can no longer be mine.
Can they speak of the friends that I lived but to love?
Ah, surely Affection ennobles the strain!
But how can my numbers in sympathy move,
When I scarcely can hope to behold them again?
Can I sing of the deeds which my Fathers have done,
And raise my loud harp to the fame of my Sires?
For glories like theirs, oh, how faint is my tone!
For Heroes' exploits how unequal my fires!
Untouch'd, then, my Lyre shall reply to the blast--
'Tis hush'd; and my feeble endeavors are o'er;
And those who have heard it will pardon the past,
When they know that its murmurs shall vibrate no more.
And soon shall its wild erring notes be forgot,
Since early affection and love is o'ercast:
Oh! blest had my Fate been, and happy my lot,
Had the first strain of love been the dearest, the last.
Farewell, my young Muse! since we now can ne'er meet;
If our songs have been languid, they surely are few:
Let us hope that the present at least will be sweet--
The present--which seals our eternal Adieu.
The Fairy Of Light
Some say that fairies don't exist!
Yet children know they do!
That's why their legends still persist,
Perhaps you've heard them, too!
If not, then listen to the tale,
Of one sweet fairy girl
With hair of gold yet skin so pale
Her face looked like a pearl...
Near to the Palace, there she danced
And then her wings took flight...
A Prince who saw her watched entranced,
'Well done, Fairy of Light! '
And though quite shy, she had to smile,
For compliments were rare
And when she landed in a while,
She waited for him there...
And pretty soon love cast its spell,
Romance was utter bliss,
Such that before they said farewell
They shared a tender kiss!
Her wings fell off, her magic gone!
For she was mortal now,
Yet still they kissed and carried on,
Oblivious somehow...
The Prince felt sorry, held her hand
And then caressed her cheek
And tried to make her understand
That she was still unique...
And so they wed and danced each night,
In love for all to see,
The Prince and the Fairy of Light,
In perfect harmony...
Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2012.
The poem is based on the Breast Cancer Campaign
figurine, The Fairy of Light sold on the Shopping TV
channels, bid-tv, price-drop-tv and speedauction-tv.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Sweet And Tender Hooligan
he was a sweet and tender hooligan
and he swore that he'd never, never do it again
and of course he won't (not until the next time)
poor old man
he had an "accident" with a three bar fire
but that's OK
because he wasn't very happy anyway
poor woman
strangled in her very own bed as she read
but that's OK
because she was old and she would have died anyway
DON"T BLAME
this sweet and tender hooligan
because he'll never, never do it again
(at least not until the next time)
So jury you've heard every world
but before you decide
would you look into those "Mother-me" eyes
I love life for you my love, you my love
you my love, you my love
So jury you've heard ever word
but before you decide
would you look into those "Mother-me" eyes
I love you for you my love, you my love
I love you just for you my love, you my love
don't blame
the sweet and tender hooligan
who claims that
"In the midst of life we are in debt ETC"
ETC! ETC! ETC! ETC!
IN THE MIDST OF LIFE WE ARE IN DEBT ETC
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sometimes I wish that I were Helen-fair
Sometimes I wish that I were Helen-fair
And wise as Pallas,
That I might have most royal gifts to pour
In love's sweet chalice.
Then I reflect my dear love is no god
But mortal only
And in this heavenly wife might deem himself
Not blest, but lonely.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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By The Seaside : The Evening Star
Lo! in the paintedoriel of the West,
Whose panes the sunken sun incarnadines,
Like a fair lady at her casement, shines
The evening star, the star of love and rest!
And then anon she doth herself divest
Of all her radiant garments, and reclines
Behind the sombre screen of yonder pines,
With slumber and soft dreams of love oppressed.
O my beloved, my sweet Hesperus!
My morning and my evening star of love!
My best and gentlest lady! even thus,
As that fair planet in the sky above,
Dost thou retire unto thy rest at night,
And from thy darkened window fades the light.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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