The Visit Of The Gods. Imitated From Schiller
Never, believe me,
Appear the Immortals,
Never alone:
Scarce had I welcomed the Sorrow-beguiler,
Iacchus! but in came Boy Cupid the Smiler;
Lo! Phoebus the Glorious descends from his throne!
They advance, they float in, the Olympians all!
With Divinities fills my
Terrestrial hall!
How shall I yield you
Due entertainment,
Celestial quire?
Me rather, bright guests! with your wings of upbuoyance
Bear aloft to your homes, to your banquets of joyance,
That the roofs of Olympus may echo my lyre!
Hah! we mount! on their pinions they waft up my soul!
O give me the nectar!
O fill me the bowl!
Give him the nectar!
Pour out for the poet,
Hebe! pour free!
Quicken his eyes with celestial dew,
That Styx the detested no more he may view,
And like one of us Gods may conceit him to be!
Thanks, Hebe! I quaff it! Io Paean, I cry!
The wine of the Immortals
Forbids me to die!
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Dithyramb
Believe me, together
The bright gods come ever,
Still as of old;
Scarce see I Bacchus, the giver of joy,
Than comes up fair Eros, the laugh-loving boy,
And Phoebus, the stately, behold!
They come near and nearer,
The heavenly ones all--
The gods with their presence
Fill earth as their hall!
Say, how shall I welcome,
Human and earthborn,
Sons of the sky?
Pour out to me--pour the full life that ye live!
What to ye, O ye gods! can the mortal one give?
The joys can dwell only
In Jupiter's palace--
Brimmed bright with your nectar,
Oh, reach me the chalice!
"Hebe, the chalice
Fill full to the brim!
Steep his eyes--steep his eyes in the bath of the dew,
Let him dream, while the Styx is concealed from his view,
That the life of the gods is for him!"
It murmurs, it sparkles,
The fount of delight;
The bosom grows tranquil--
The eye becomes bright.
poem by Friedrich Schiller
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Wreath the Bowl
Wreath the bowl
With flowers of soul,
The brightest Wit can find us,
We'll take a flight
Towards heaven to-night,
And leave dull earth behind us.
Should Love amid
The wreaths be hid
That Joy, the enchanter, brings us,
No danger fear,
While wine is near --
We'll drown him if he stings us.
Then, wreath the bowl
With flowers of soul,
The brightest Wit can find us.
We'll take a flight
Towards heaven to-night,
And leave dull earth behind us.
'Twas nectar fed
Of old, 'tis said,
Their Junos, Joves, Apollos,
And man may brew
His nectar too,
The rich receipt's as follows:
Take wine like this,
Let looks of bliss
Around it well be blended,
Then bring Wit's beam
To warm the stream,
And there's your nectar, splendid!
So, wreath the bowl,
With flowers of soul,
The brightest Wit can find us,
We'll take a flight
Towards heaven to-night,
And leave dull earth behind us.
Say, why did Time
His glass sublime
Fill up with sands unsightly,
When wine, he knew,
Runs brisker through,
And sparkles far more brightly?
Oh, lend it us,
And, smiling thus,
The glass in two we'll sever,
Make pleasure glide
In double tide,
And fill both ends for ever!
Then, wreath the bowl
With flowers of soul
The brightest Wit can find us;
We'll take a flight
Towards heaven to-night,
And leave dull earth behind us.
poem by Thomas Moore
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My Heritage
I into life so full of love was sent
That all the shadows which fall on the way
Of every human being could not stay,
But fled before the light my spirit lent.
I saw the world through gold and crimson dyes:
Men sighed and said, 'Those rosy hues will fade
As you pass on into the glare and shade!'
Still beautiful the way seems to mine eyes.
They said, 'You are too jubilant and glad;
The world is full of sorrow and of wrong.
Full soon your lips shall breathe forth sighs—not song.'
The day wears on, and yet I am not sad.
They said, 'You love too largely, and you must,
Through wound on wound, grow bitter to your kind.'
They were false prophets; day by day I find
More cause for love, and less cause for distrust.
They said, 'Too free you give your soul's rare wine;
The world will quaff, but it will not repay.'
Yet in the emptied flagons, day by day,
True hearts pour back a nectar as divine.
Thy heritage! Is it not love's estate?
Look to it, then, and keep its soil well tilled.
I hold that my best wishes are fulfilled
Because I love so much, and cannot hate.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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A Farewel To America to Mrs. S. W.
I.
ADIEU, New-England's smiling meads,
Adieu, the flow'ry plain:
I leave thine op'ning charms, O spring,
And tempt the roaring main.
II.
In vain for me the flow'rets rise,
And boast their gaudy pride,
While here beneath the northern skies
I mourn for health deny'd.
III.
Celestial maid of rosy hue,
O let me feel thy reign!
I languish till thy face I view,
Thy vanish'd joys regain.
IV.
Susanna mourns, nor can I bear
To see the crystal show'r,
Or mark the tender falling tear
At sad departure's hour;
V.
Not unregarding can I see
Her soul with grief opprest:
But let no sighs, no groans for me,
Steal from her pensive breast.
VI.
In vain the feather'd warblers sing,
In vain the garden blooms,
And on the bosom of the spring
Breathes out her sweet perfumes.
VII.
While for Britannia's distant shore
We sweep the liquid plain,
And with astonish'd eyes explore
The wide-extended main.
VIII.
Lo! Health appears! celestial dame!
Complacent and serene,
With Hebe's mantle o'er her Frame,
With soul-delighting mein.
IX.
To mark the vale where London lies
With misty vapours crown'd,
Which cloud Aurora's thousand dyes,
And veil her charms around.
X.
Why, Phoebus, moves thy car so slow?
So slow thy rising ray?
Give us the famous town to view,
Thou glorious king of day!
XI.
For thee, Britannia, I resign
New-England's smiling fields;
To view again her charms divine,
What joy the prospect yields!
XII.
But thou! Temptation hence away,
With all thy fatal train,
Nor once seduce my soul away,
By thine enchanting strain.
XIII.
Thrice happy they, whose heav'nly shield
Secures their souls from harms,
And fell Temptation on the field
Of all its pow'r disarms!
poem by Phillis Wheatley
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By Moschus
I slept when Venus enter'd: to my bed
A Cupid in her beauteous hand she led,
A bashful seeming boy, and thus she said:
'Shepherd, receive my little one! I bring
An untaught love, whom thou must teach to sing.'
She said, and left him. I, suspecting nought,
Many a sweet strain my subtle pupil taught,
How reed to reed Pan first with osier bound,
How Pallas form'd the pipe of softest sound,
How Hermes gave the lute, and how the quire
Of Phoebus owe to Phoebus' self the lyre.
Such were my themes; my themes nought heeded he
But ditties sang of amorous sort to me.
The pangs that mortals and immortals prove
From Venus' influence and the darts of love.
Thus was the teacher by the pupil taught;
His lessons I retain'd, he mine forgot.
poem by William Cowper
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An Hymn to Humanity
I.
Lo! for this dark terrestrial ball
Forsakes his azure-paved hall
A prince of heav'nly birth!
Divine Humanity behold,
What wonders rise, what charms unfold
At his descent to earth!
II.
The bosoms of the great and good
With wonder and delight he view'd,
And fix'd his empire there:
Him, close compressing to his breast,
The sire of gods and men address'd,
"My son, my heav'nly fair!
III.
"Descend to earth, there place thy throne;
"To succour man's afflicted son
"Each human heart inspire:
"To act in bounties unconfin'd
"Enlarge the close contracted mind,
"And fill it with thy fire."
IV.
Quick as the word, with swift career
He wings his course from star to star,
And leaves the bright abode.
The Virtue did his charms impart;
Their G-----! then thy raptur'd heart
Perceiv'd the rushing God:
V.
For when thy pitying eye did see
The languid muse in low degree,
Then, then at thy desire
Descended the celestial nine;
O'er me methought they deign'd to shine,
And deign'd to string my lyre.
VI.
Can Afric's muse forgetful prove?
Or can such friendship fail to move
A tender human heart?
Immortal Friendship laurel-crown'd
The smiling Graces all surround
With ev'ry heav'nly Art.
poem by Phillis Wheatley
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The Walk Invisible, Pt 2
With a paean heart
Through the invisible trod
Through golden streets
Through glory sparkling spaces
As the invisible walk continues
With an angel
Niceties change
Another chamber
The angel announces welcome
So the invisible walk
So glorious the chamber
With blessings adorned
So many and diverse a blessing
For earthly inhabitants
So the invisible walk
To another glorious field
The angel leads
Pure crisp forms are seen for earthly immortals
Of jasper and other pricey and princely metals made
So the invisible walk
On crystal clear gold
Feet tread onto yet another place
A paean heart almost bursting
The trod goes through golden fruit trees
So the invisible walk
Angel announces
An eternity of pure joy
An everlasting glory
Will the immortal paean hearts experience
So the invisible walk
A flowery banquet into sight
As the angel says
For the patient immortals
Who the Saviour accepted this prepared
So the invisible walk
The angel asked
And the question is
Whether the reader of these lines
This banquet will attend
As the invisible walk continues
poem by Obed Akuma
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Love Sonnet 11 Should Olympus Be, By Chance, Where I Am
Should Olympus be, by chance, where I am,
Would I tire seeing how the Graces dance?
Ambrosia, nectar, will I have for jam,
And Apollo's lyre might have me in trance;
Could I scour the fields for a maiden fair?
And drive chariots to snatch a girl?
Or guise myself as swan for sly affair?
Or carve me statue, like a lovelorn churl?
Or might I sail, consult an oracle,
Or go on quest to meet a lovely lass?
But when you came, so sweet a spectacle,
I find no need to trod in gods' morass;
........My love is on a path no god can thwart,
........Cupid emptied his quiver at my heart.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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Sideways
My love mesmerizes you;
its your intoxication.
I see your soul
singing with every glance I give,
every heart tug
you too evince in me,
with just one
of those smiles of yours.
You pose in my view,
twirl slightly,
give me sudden side-way
glance
just like in the movies,
counting my heartbeats
which you can hear from across the room.
Oh, you love my smitten-ness.
Like the hummingbird
you flutter to each of my flower glances
suck my nectar
and fly away quickly
leaving only a blur of wings
in my too-slow side vision.
Oh, I love your flirting love
it gives
so much
to your innocent ego
which needs my need of you,
my hungry eyes.
Your need of me
is as great as mine for you;
in this we are Flirtation Lovers
ever attracted
but never joined.
For me this is enough for now;
for you it is a need fulfilled.
We are Lovers of the Side-way Glance;
a love never to consummate
because that would likely spoil
a Love Perfect
in its purity
and mutual joy.
Ours can only
survive
in the askance view
where I look at you from afar
offering you
yet more
nectar;
as you flirt and flit
on the wing
exhausting
my quivering
flower.
.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Hebe II
Which news threw the household
into dire confusion. She sang-
so now we'd need to rename
the bloody thing.
But what? Stevie, perhaps, or
Jeff, maybe, or Bill?
Imagine our consternation when
out from Hebe flew another trill.
What should it be?
Hannibal? Caruso?
Hourly, we badgered Grandma
who smiled, not unpleasantly,
pleased to be arbitor
in so delicate a matter.
She thought and thought
of what was right and meet
and finally, God-like, delivered her verdict:
'Let he be Hebe. Change naught'.
So we did as she bid-Hebe kept his name
but sang alot
and that was the end of that.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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A Remorseful Plea
If I should drink from the nectar of the Gods
and return to my youth once more,
Would the Gods be with me
or would it be as before?
For all that I did was not enough.
My life was left undone.
Would the sweetness of the nectar
be accompanied by the sun?
Or would my life be a revolving door
making me atone
for all I left unfinished
and all I did bemoan?
As the bitterness that quenched my thirst
was not a pleasant drink,
still I drank and drank of it
and never stopped to think
of time I wasted on trivialities
which hindered my eyes
from seeing the most important of all
before a teardropp dries.
To become at home with all there is
to make me feel complete
and never wrestle with 'What should I do? '
with the sorrowful ones I meet.
Oh that the Gods would hear my plea
and understand how I feel,
they would offer that cup of nectar to drink
so that my soul could heal.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Life is nectar
Beginning is poison
End is nectar
No no
Beginning is nectar
Middle is nectar
End is also nectar
Whole things
Whole activities
Is only nectar
Enjoy the life
Life is not bitter
Life is nectar.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Give Me Heaven, I Wont Be Content.
Give me Heaven,
I wont be content
with her golden streets
and pearly gates
breath taking mansions
and all the joyful saints
Give me Heaven,
I wont be content
with the amazing wall
and her fitly-set stones
of jasper, sapphire, chrysolite and the rest
my eyes shall not more be pleased
than with the c'mon granite which acquit my flesh
on my pilgrim days on earth
Give me Heaven,
I wont be content
with all her celestial bliss
cherubims and seraphims in their glorious wings
and for always eternity the meal
and my crown, heaven's stars adorn.
If that's all there is,
if His throne be void,
or by another preside,
give me Heaven,
I wont be satisfied.
poem by Osemwegie George
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Pen and paper
What more wanted a woman!
I had been drinking life
From the bottom to the brim
Of the bowl of nectar and wine
Full content was my heart
The soul always sang a song,
My life danced in a joy!
As we three slept
One by one
I was in the middle
On the one side
Was my child
On the other
Was my love
Through the open windows
Of us fell on the pillows
The silver light
Made our faces angel bright
Still I could not sleep
The mind
Having a bun on the oven
The heart
Having a hang of the heavy clouds
Liked to pour in
I was writhing with a pain
Feeling Strangulated suffocated breathless
Nothing came out
As I tried to vomit
I knew the only medicine
The pen and paper
On which I wanted to deliver
Though for a span of time, brief
I heaved a sigh of relief!
poem by Abdul Wahab
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The Drops Of Nectar
WHEN Minerva, to give pleasure
To Prometheus, her well-loved one,
Brought a brimming bowl of nectar
From the glorious realms of heaven
As a blessing for his creatures,
And to pour into their bosoms
Impulses for arts ennobling,
She with rapid footstep hasten'd,
Fearing Jupiter might see her,
And the golden goblet trembled,
And there fell a few drops from it
On the verdant plain beneath her.
Then the busy bees flew thither
Straightway, eagerly to drink them,
And the butterfly came quickly
That he, too, might find a drop there;
Even the misshapen spider
Thither crawl'd and suck'd with vigour.
To a happy end they tasted,
They, and other gentle insects!
For with mortals now divide they
Art - that noblest gift of all.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Life's Hebe
IN the early morning-shine
Of a certain day divine,
I beheld a Maiden stand
With a pitcher in her hand;
Whence she poured into a cup
Until it was half filled up
Nectar that was golden light
In the cup of crystal bright.
And the first who took the cup
With pure water filled it up;
As he drank then, it was more
Ruddy golden than before:
And he leapt and danced and sang
As to Bacchic cymbals’ clang.
But the next who took the cup
With the red wine filled it up;
What he drank then was in hue
Of a heavy sombre blue:
First he reeled and then he crept,
Then lay faint but never slept.
And the next who took the cup
With the white milk filled it up;
What he drank at first seemed blood,
Then turned thick and brown as mud:
And he moved away as slow
As a weary ox may go.
But the next who took the cup
With sweet honey filled it up;
Nathless that which he did drink
Was thin fluid black as ink:
As he went he stumbled, soon,
And lay still in deathlike swoon.
She the while without a word
Unto all the cup preferred;
Blandly smiled and sweetly laughed
As each mingled his own draught.
And the next who took the cup
To the sunshine held it up,
Gave it back and did not taste;
It was empty when replaced:
First he bowed a reverent bow,
Then he kissed her on the brow.
But the next who took the cup
Without mixture drank it up;
When she took it back from him
It was full unto the brim:
He with a right bold embrace
Kissed her sweet lips face to face.
Then she sang with blithest cheer:
Who has thirst, come here, come here!
Nectar that is golden light
In the cup of crystal bright,
Nectar that is sunny fire
Warm as warmest heart’s desire:
Pitcher never lacketh more,
Arm is never tired to pour:
Honey, water, milk, or wine
Mingle with the draught divine,
Drink it pure, or drink it not;
Each is free to choose his lot:
Am I old? or am I cold?
Only two have kissed me bold!
She was young and fair and gay
As that young and glorious day.
poem by James Thomson
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Slave Labor
My chains are paper thin, and they're welded with me
Sealed inside a legal trap, so tight blood don't leak
A contract with a devil, for a life of disdain
See me in the limelight, an indentured slave
I blame myself.
God! Help me pour this gas on me!
I need to drown in flames to be free!
Help me pour this gas on me!
Choke another product for the mass to consume
The flocks of mindless sheep that have corporately groomed
I endrance through apathy, like drones in the hive
A slave on the prayer wheel in conformed disguise
I blame myself
God! Help me pour this gas on me!
I need to drown in flames to be free!
Help me pour this gas on me!
I sold my soul, I sold my soul ...
God! Help me pour this gas on me!
I need to drown in flames to be free!
Help me pour this gas on me!
song performed by by Fear Factory
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Question Answered
I saw the lark at break of day
Rise from its dewy bed,
And, winged with melody, away
Circle to Heaven o'erhead.
I watched it higher and higher soar,
Still ceasing not to trill,
When, though I could descry no more
Its flight, I heard it still.
But shortly quavered back its note,
And, hovering into sight,
I saw it, homeward sinking, float
Over its nest of night.
``Tell me,'' I cried, ``glad songster, why
You, privileged to wend
Up to the blue and boundless sky,
Where only wings ascend,
``Full into Heaven, to look and gaze
Whither our thoughts aspire,
And, unrebuked, terrestrial lays
Blend with celestial choir,
``Why you, thus welcomed to the height
Of minstrelsy and mirth,
Pavilioned high from mortal sight,
Come back again to Earth.''
Then shook the lark again its wings,
And, fluttering o'er its bed
Deep-bosomed in the grassy floor,
In rippling answer said:-
``'Tis joy to mount, alone, aloft,
Into the ether clear,
And thence look down on garth and croft
Of red-roofed hamlets here.
``To sing my song through endless space,
Towering above, above,
While mortals watch with upturned face
Of longing and of love;
``Then, for a while, unseen to pass
Through unsubstantial dome,
But treble back to tangled grass-
Not Heaven, withal my home.
``And tell me, when I skyward sing,
Am I unlike to you,
That on Imagination's wing
Strain sometimes out of view
``Into the radiant Realms untrod
Song can alone descry,
And whilom join, by grace of God,
Angelic company
``Yet sink down from the firmament
Back to life's dearth and dole,
Knowing full well that song was sent
To comfort and console.''
poem by Alfred Austin
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The Dead Poet
Never again shall he with wizard sleight
Ensare on threshold of his soul the bright
Unearthly splendors that would oft alight,
And in the magic web of melody
Display them flashing as when they were free.
Never again shall he be inflamed by Spring
Soar to the gods to hear Apollo sing
Songs ah! so sweet and with so tense a lyre
They seemed as nectar flowing through white fire.
Never again shall he fold truths in rhyme
And thrust them clinging 'neath the wings of Time,
Shape a fine fancy with unfaltering taste,
Fondling the colors that the sounds embraced;
Or with eyes dim from dreaming watch the slow
Ascending sun's plume on a fervid glow,
And pinions palely spreading far away;
Or hear at night, when on his couch he lay,
The moaning of the moonlit toiling sea
With burden of o'erwhelming memory,
Seeming to carry in an undertone
Rumors of dauntless heroes he had known,
Who bearded even gods to glut desire
And fought beneath the thunder of their ire.
Lured by the glamor of translunar dreams
He chased through mist the ever-fleeting gleams.
Aloof from wealth's red bubbled vanities,
Contented to be thought not worldly wise
Since he, when flamed the mantle of the seer,
In mood majestic trod the magian sphere
Where nature's veil at his authentic glance
Fell quivering from her fire-bright countenance,
And heard, like an abysmal heaving sea,
The movement of the Eternal Harmony.
poem by Arthur Bayldon
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Hebe
Hebe had true glamor:
she cost a whole twelve dollars
at Cunningham department store's
bird nook in 1964.
She wore a stole of golden plumes
and peeped with bright eyes through the bars
of her little gilded room
decorated with a cuttlebone.
Sipped and shovelled
water and mill
from clear plastic cups
that were always kept full.
Of course we bought her right away
but pretty soon, at home, she opened her bill
and much, much to our dismay
uttered a loud, unexpurgated trill.
Grandma, who lived in the annex
and had mild diabetes informed us
to our shock that females don't sing-
that Hebe must, accordingly, be a boy.
Which news.....
poem by Morgan Michaels
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