A Lady Forsaken Complayneth
If pleasures be in painfulness, in pleasures doth my body rest,
If joyes accord with carefulness, a joyful hart is in my brest:
If prison strong be liberty, in liberty long have I been,
If joyes accord with misery, who can compare a lyfe to myne:
Who can unbind that is sore bound? who can make free yet is sore thrall,
Or how can any means be found to comfort such a wretch withall?
None can but he yet hath my hart, convert my pains to comfort then,
Yet since his servant I became, most like a bondman have I been:
Since first in bondage I became, my word and deed was ever such,
That never once he could me blame, except for loving him too much.
Which I can judge no just offence, nor cause that I deserved disdayne,
Except he mean through false pretense, through forgèd love to make a trayne.
Nay, nay, alas, my fainèd thoughts my freded and my fainèd ruth,
My pleasures past, my present plaints, shew well I mean but to much truth:
But since I can not him attain, against my will I let him goe,
And lest he glorie at my pain, I wyl attempt to cloke my woe.
Youth learne by me but do not prove, for I have provèd to my pain,
What greeuous greefes do grow by love, and what it is to love in vaine.
poem by Sir Edward Dyer
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Related quotes
Love without Pain
Fire is unexpected without smoke
Love is also unexpected without pain
If love is fire then pain is smoke
Smoke is the realization of fire
Pain is also the realization of love
Fire is the coincidence of two objects
Love is also coincidence of two hearts
Soul is free from pains and pleasures
Mind can only understand the pains and pleasures
But heart can feel the pains and pleasures
May be throughout life
Love of one’s is not understood
But isolation of the beloved one
Makes us the realization of one love
Love is the natural phenomenon like fire
Life without love is a barren land
Fire sometimes burns to ashes
Love also sometimes makes the life to ashes
If life is delighted due to love
Surrounding is also enlightened due to fire
But when love and fire comes together
Fire is extinguished due to love of a beloved one
poem by Ramesh Rai
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Pain and Sore
What is pain
What is Sore
Let me define the too
They mean when a soul is dead
When there is nothing left
But emptiness
Where is pain
Where is sore
For me pain is everywhere
But for the sore
Thats only in my eyes
Where I cry all the time
How is pain
How is sore
Pain slowly kills a body
Sore is worse then words can explain
Who is pain
And who is sore
Pain is the enemies-thy sisters
As for the sore that would be my heart
When is pain
And when is sore
Pain is when you call
And sore is seeing everyone cry
All these are symbolizing one thing
That thing is whats inside
What hurts and is unbarriable
So thats what, where, how, who, when
Pain and Sore are
poem by Renee Ortiz
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O death, rock me on sleep
O death! rock me on sleep,
Bring me on quiet rest;
Yet pass my guiltless ghost
Out of my careful breast:
Toll on the passing bell,
Ring out the doleful knell,
Let the sound of my death tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy,
For now I die.
My pains who can express?
Alas! they are so strong,
My dolor will not suffer strength
My life for to prolong:
Toll on the passing bell, etc.
Alone, in prison strong,
I wail my destiny,
Wo worth this cruel hap that I
Should taste this misery:
Toll on the passing bell, etc.
Farewell my pleasures past,
Welcome my present pain;
I feel my torments so increase
That life cannot remain.
Cease now the passing bell,
Rung is my doleful knell,
For the sound my death doth tell,
Death doth draw nigh,
Sound my end dolefully,
For now I die.
poem by Anne Boleyn (1536)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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SOnnet LXXIII
BEing my selfe captyued here in care,
My hart, whom none with seruile bands can tye:
but the fayre tresses of your golden hayre,
breaking his prison forth to you doth fly.
Lyke as a byrd that in ones hand doth spy
desired food, to it doth make his flight:
euen so my hart, that wont on your fayre eye
to feed his fill, flyes backe vnto your sight.
Doe you him take, and in your bosome bright,
gently encage, that he may be your thrall:
perhaps he there may learne with rare delight,
to sing your name and prayses ouer all.
That it hereafter may you not repent,
him lodging in your bosome to haue lent.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Friendship's Mystery, To my Dearest Lucasia
.
COme, my Lucasia, since we see
That Miracles Mens faith do move,
By wonder and by prodigy
To the dull angry world let's prove
There's a Religion in our Love.
.
For though we were design'd t' agree,
That Fate no liberty destroyes,
But our Election is as free
As Angels, who with greedy choice
Are yet determin'd to their joyes.
.
Our hearts are doubled by the loss,
Here Mixture is Addition grown ;
We both diffuse, and both ingross :
And we whose minds are so much one,
Never, yet ever are alone.
.
We court our own Captivity
Than Thrones more great and innocent :
'Twere banishment to be set free,
Since we wear fetters whose intent
Not Bondage is, but Ornament.
.
Divided joyes are tedious found,
And griefs united easier grow :
We are our selves but by rebound,
And all our Titles shuffled so,
Both Princes, and both Subjects too.
.
Our Hearts are mutual Victims laid,
While they (such power in Friendship lies)
Are Altars, Priests, and Off'rings made :
And each Heart which thus kindly dies,
Grows deathless by the Sacrifice.
poem by Katherine Philips
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One Love, Alot Of Pain
In life, there’s one love but a lot of pain
Love heals your wounds when the pain is too much
Love is nowhere, if the pain is everywhere.
Love is an angel while the pain is a devil
Love gives comfort when the pain is hurtful
Love is nowhere, if the pain is everywhere.
Love is the light while the pain is the darkness
Love is a rainbow while the pain is a thunder
Love is nowhere, if the pain is everywhere.
Love will be strong when the pain is weak
Love is true but the pain is false
Love is nowhere, if the pain is everywhere.
Love fair while the pain is un-fair
Love is surely possible when the pain is impossible
Love is nowhere, if the pain is everywhere.
O My Hart!
O my hart and O my hart!
My hart it is so sore,
Sens I must nedys from my love depart
And know no cunse wherefore.
poem by Henry VIII King of England
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To Phyllis
Phyllis! why should we delay
Pleasures shorter than the day?
Can we (which we never can)
Stretch our lives beyond their span,
Beauty like a shadow flies,
And our youth before us dies.
Or, would youth and beauty stay,
Love has wings, and will away.
Love has swifter wings than Time;
Change in love to heaven doth climb.
Gods, that never change their state,
Vary oft their love and hate.
Phyllis! to this truth we owe
All the love betwixt us two.
Let not you and I inquire
What has been our past desire;
On what shepherds you have smiled,
Or what nymphs I have beguiled;
Leave it to the planets too,
What we shall hereafter do;
For the joys we now may prove,
Take advice of present love.
poem by Edmund Waller
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Ill Go On Loving You
Alan jackson
Ill go on loving you
When I look into your soft green eyes
And when I see your delicate body
Revealed to me as you slip off your dress
Im reminded that what I feel for you
Will remain strong and true
Long after the pleasures of the flesh and
Ill go on loving you
Ill go on loving you
Ill go on loving you
And be it the wind or the rain
Or the moon up in the sky
The spin of the earth
Or the change in the tides
I dont know what brought us together
What strange forces of nature
Conspired to construct
The present from the past but
Chorus:
When I look into your soft green eyes
And when I see your delicate body
Revealed to me as you slip off your dress
Im reminded that what I feel for you
Will remain strong and true
Long after the pleasures of the flesh and
Chorus:
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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O Death, O Death, Rock Me Asleep
O Death, O Death, rock me asleep,
Bring me to quiet rest;
Let pass my weary guiltless ghost
Out of my careful breast.
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Thy sound my death abroad will tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy.
My pains, my pains, who can express?
Alas, they are so strong!
My dolours will not suffer strength
My life for to prolong.
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Thy sound my death abroad will tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy.
Alone, alone in prison strong
I wail my destiny:
Woe worth this cruel hap that I
Must taste this misery!
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Thy sound my death abroad will tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy.
Farewell, farewell, my pleasures past!
Welcome, my present pain!
I feel my torment so increase
That life cannot remain.
Cease now, thou passing bell,
Ring out my doleful knoll,
For thou my death dost tell:
Lord, pity thou my soul!
Death doth draw nigh,
Sound dolefully:
For now I die,
I die, I die.
O Death, O Death, Rock Me Asleep
O Death, O Death, rock me asleep,
Bring me to quiet rest;
Let pass my weary guiltless ghost
Out of my careful breast.
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Thy sound my death abroad will tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy.
My pains, my pains, who can express?
Alas, they are so strong!
My dolours will not suffer strength
My life for to prolong.
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Thy sound my death abroad will tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy.
Alone, alone in prison strong
I wail my destiny:
Woe worth this cruel hap that I
Must taste this misery!
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Thy sound my death abroad will tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy.
Farewell, farewell, my pleasures past!
Welcome, my present pain!
I feel my torment so increase
That life cannot remain.
Cease now, thou passing bell,
Ring out my doleful knoll,
For thou my death dost tell:
Lord, pity thou my soul!
Death doth draw nigh,
Sound dolefully:
For now I die,
I die, I die.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Doctor B. Of Tears
Who would have thought, there could have bin
Such joy in tears, wept for our sin?
Mine eyes have seen, my heart hath prov'd
The most and best of earthly joyes:
The sweets of love, and being lov'd,
Masks, Feasts, and Playes, and such like toyes.
Yet, this one tear, which now doth fall,
In true delight exceeds them all.
2. Indeed, mine eyes at first let in
Those guests that did these woes begin,
Therefore mine eyes in tears, and grief,
Are justly drown'd: but, that those tears
Should comfort bring, is past belief:
Oh God! in this thy grace appears,
Thou that mak'st light from darkness spring,
Mak'st joyes to weep, and sorrows sing.
3. Oh where am I? what may I think?
Help, help, alas my heart doth sink;
Thus lost in seas of woe,
Thus laden with my sin,
Waves of despair dash in,
And threat my overthrow.
What heart opprest with such a weight
Can chuse but break, and perish quite?
4. Yet, as at Sea in storms, men use
The Ship to save, the goods to lose;
So, in this fearfull storm,
This danger to prevent,
Before all hope be spent,
I'le chuse the lesser harm:
My tears to seas will convert,
And drown my eyes to save my heart.
5. Oh God my God, what shall I give
To thee in thanks? I am and live
In thee, and thou didst safe preserve
My health, my fame, my goods, my rent,
Thou mak'st me eat while others sterve;
Such unto me thy Blessings are,
As if I were thy only care.
6. But, oh my God! thou art more kind,
When I look inward on my mind:
Thou fill'st my heart with humble joy,
With patience, meekness, fervant love,
(Which doth all other loves destroy)
With faith (which nothing can remove)
And hope assur'd of heavens bliss;
This is my state: thy grace is this.
poem by Henry Wotton
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Depressed Not Dieing...
When was it or have you never realised that nothing makes you happy in this world,
You could have all the money an all the love in this world but what would make me happy I ask? Because life is not worth living miserable as sin an my happiness can not last in my conscience within, I may think that I’m strong although I know I am not when happiness is not in my hart, I could have it all but what is that worth when all I really crave for, is someone to love me to have an to hold me and make me happy once more. but is this the truth am I really in pain or am I just selfish an lying again or can it be true I lost my happiness with you an today I feel like dieing, because the pain in my hart just wont go away and I’m emotionally exhausted from trying. And the tears I have cried have left my eyes dry an I still cant sleep for trying, but please don’t be mad because I am sad I will continue trying, for the happiness I seek is always just out of reach, look I’m just depressed not dying…
poem by Robert James Davis
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To Althea From Prison.
I.
When love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my gates;
And my divine ALTHEA brings
To whisper at the grates;
When I lye tangled in her haire,
And fetterd to her eye,
The birds, that wanton in the aire,
Know no such liberty.
II.
When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying THAMES,
Our carelesse heads with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty griefe in wine we steepe,
When healths and draughts go free,
Fishes, that tipple in the deepe,
Know no such libertie.
III.
When (like committed linnets) I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetnes, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my King.
When I shall voyce aloud, how good
He is, how great should be,
Inlarged winds, that curle the flood,
Know no such liberty.
IV.
Stone walls doe not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Mindes innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage;
If I have freedome in my love,
And in my soule am free,
Angels alone that sore above
Enjoy such liberty.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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To Lucasta, From Prison
I.
Long in thy shackels, liberty
I ask not from these walls, but thee;
Left for awhile anothers bride,
To fancy all the world beside.
II.
Yet e're I doe begin to love,
See, how I all my objects prove;
Then my free soule to that confine,
'Twere possible I might call mine.
III.
First I would be in love with peace,
And her rich swelling breasts increase;
But how, alas! how may that be,
Despising earth, she will love me?
IV.
Faine would I be in love with war,
As my deare just avenging star;
But War is lov'd so ev'rywhere,
Ev'n he disdaines a lodging here.
V.
Thee and thy wounds I would bemoane,
Faire thorough-shot religion;
But he lives only that kills thee,
And who so bindes thy hands, is free.
VI.
I would love a parliment
As a maine prop from Heav'n sent;
But ah! who's he, that would be wedded
To th' fairest body that's beheaded?
VII.
Next would I court my liberty,
And then my birth-right, property;
But can that be, when it is knowne,
There's nothing you can call your owne?
VIII.
A reformation I would have,
As for our griefes a sov'raigne salve;
That is, a cleansing of each wheele
Of state, that yet some rust doth feele.
IX.
But not a reformation so,
As to reforme were to ore'throw,
Like watches by unskilfull men
Disjoynted, and set ill againe.
X.
The publick faith I would adore,
But she is banke-rupt of her store:
Nor how to trust her can I see,
For she that couzens all, must me.
XI.
Since then none of these can be
Fit objects for my love and me;
What then remaines, but th' only spring
Of all our loves and joyes, the King?
XII.
He who, being the whole ball
Of day on earth, lends it to all;
When seeking to ecclipse his right,
Blinded we stand in our owne light.
XIII.
And now an universall mist
Of error is spread or'e each breast,
With such a fury edg'd as is
Not found in th' inwards of th' abysse.
XIV.
Oh, from thy glorious starry waine
Dispense on me one sacred beame,
To light me where I soone may see
How to serve you, and you trust me!
poem by Richard Lovelace
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To Lucasta From Prison An Epode
I.
Long in thy shackels, liberty
I ask not from these walls, but thee;
Left for awhile anothers bride,
To fancy all the world beside.
II.
Yet e're I doe begin to love,
See, how I all my objects prove;
Then my free soule to that confine,
'Twere possible I might call mine.
III.
First I would be in love with PEACE,
And her rich swelling breasts increase;
But how, alas! how may that be,
Despising earth, she will love me?
IV.
Faine would I be in love with WAR,
As my deare just avenging star;
But War is lov'd so ev'rywhere,
Ev'n he disdaines a lodging here.
V.
Thee and thy wounds I would bemoane,
Faire thorough-shot RELIGION;
But he lives only that kills thee,
And who so bindes thy hands, is free.
VI.
I would love a PARLIAMENT
As a maine prop from Heav'n sent;
But ah! who's he, that would be wedded
To th' fairest body that's beheaded?
VII.
Next would I court my LIBERTY,
And then my birth-right, PROPERTY;
But can that be, when it is knowne,
There's nothing you can call your owne?
VIII.
A REFORMATION I would have,
As for our griefes a SOV'RAIGNE salve;
That is, a cleansing of each wheele
Of state, that yet some rust doth feele.
IX.
But not a reformation so,
As to reforme were to ore'throw,
Like watches by unskilfull men
Disjoynted, and set ill againe.
X.
The PUBLICK FAITH I would adore,
But she is banke-rupt of her store:
Nor how to trust her can I see,
For she that couzens all, must me.
XI.
Since then none of these can be
Fit objects for my love and me;
What then remaines, but th' only spring
Of all our loves and joyes, the King?
XII.
He who, being the whole ball
Of day on earth, lends it to all;
When seeking to ecclipse his right,
Blinded we stand in our owne light.
XIII.
And now an universall mist
Of error is spread or'e each breast,
With such a fury edg'd as is
Not found in th' inwards of th' abysse.
XIV.
Oh, from thy glorious starry waine
Dispense on me one sacred beame,
To light me where I soone may see
How to serve you, and you trust me!
poem by Richard Lovelace
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But Half A Man
When illness ravages the body,
And skin glistens so damply.
When blotchy is his countenance,
Pity is the result of his semblance.
As his body determines to be out of control,
And normality is nothing more than a pinhole.
These are times before drugs kick in,
Pain barely surmountable causes chagrin.
This moment I see unquestioning love,
His comfort attains restful harmonic octave.
Undeserving you spend your self,
Generosity and grace your abounding wealth.
He can but a scintilla repay what is owed,
You insist on showing love that only to be followed.
Love that makes half a man a king,
With a heart that like 1000 choirs sing.
So his queen of hearts,
Your half man will gradually depart.
As the half man has lesser control,
He loved but grew to love you more than whole.
R. K. Hart 8/11/2012
On Liberty And Slavery
Alas! and am I born for this,
To wear this slavish chain?
Deprived of all created bliss,
Through hardship, toil and pain!
How long have I in bondage lain,
And languished to be free!
Alas! and must I still complain--
Deprived of liberty.
Oh, Heaven! and is there no relief
This side the silent grave--
To soothe the pain--to quell the grief
And anguish of a slave?
Come Liberty, thou cheerful sound,
Roll through my ravished ears!
Come, let my grief in joys be drowned,
And drive away my fears.
Say unto foul oppression, Cease:
Ye tyrants rage no more,
And let the joyful trump of peace,
Now bid the vassal soar.
Soar on the pinions of that dove
Which long has cooed for thee,
And breathed her notes from Afric's grove,
The sound of Liberty.
Oh, Liberty! thou golden prize,
So often sought by blood--
We crave thy sacred sun to rise,
The gift of nature's God:
Bid Slavery hide her haggard face,
And barbarism fly:
I scorn to see the sad disgrace
In which enslaved I lie.
Dear Liberty! upon thy breast,
I languish to respire;
And like the Swan unto her nest,
I'd to thy smiles retire.
Oh, blest asylum--heavenly balm!
Unto thy boughs I flee--
And in thy shades the storm shall calm,
With songs of Liberty!
poem by George Moses Horton
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part III: Gods And False Gods: LXXVIII
COLD COMFORT
There is no comfort underneath the sun.
Youth turns to age; riches are quickly spent;
Pride breeds us pain, our pleasures punishment.
The very courage which we count upon
A single night of fever shall break down,
And love is slain by fear. Death last of all
Spreads out his nets and watches for our fall.
There is no comfort underneath the sun!
--When thou art old, O man, if thou wert proud
Be humble; pride will here avail thee not.
There is no courage which can conquer death.
Forget that thou wert wise. Nay, keep thy breath
For prayer, that so thy wisdom be forgot
And thou perhaps get pity of thy God.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Sonnet XIV: Alas, Have I Not
Alas, have I not pain enough, my friend,
Upon whose breast a fiercer gripe doth tire,
Than did on him who first stole down the fire,
While Love on me doth all his quiver spend,
But with your rhubarb words you must contend,
To grieve me worse, in saying that desire
Doth plunge my well-form'd soul even in the mire
Of sinful thoughts, which do in ruin end?
If that be sin which doth the manners frame,
Well stayed with truth in word and faith of deed,
Ready of wit and fearing nought but shame:
If that be sin which in fix'd hearts doth breed
A loathing of all loose unchastity,
Then love is sin, and let me sinful be.
poem by Philip Sidney
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