Laudabunt Alii
(After Horace)
Let others praise, as fancy wills,
Berlin beneath her trees,
Or Rome upon her seven hills,
Or Venice by her seas;
Stamboul by double tides embraced,
Or green Damascus in the waste.
For me there's nought I would not leave
For the good Devon land,
Whose orchards down the echoing cleeve
Bedewed with spray-drift stand,
And hardly bear the red fruit up
That shall be next year's cider-cup.
You too, my friend, may wisely mark
How clear skies follow rain,
And, lingering in your own green park
Or drilled on Laffan's Plain,
Forget not with the festal bowl
To soothe at times your weary soul.
When Drake must bid to Plymouth Hoe
Good-bye for many a day,
And some were sad and feared to go,
And some that dared not stay,
Be sure he bade them broach the best,
And raised his tankard with the rest.
'Drake's luck to all that sail with Drake
For promised lands of gold!
Brave lads, whatever storms may break,
We've weathered worse of old!
To-night the loving-cup we'll drain,
To-morrow for the Spanish Main!'
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
A Damascene Moon
Green Tunisia, I have come to you as a lover
On my brow, a rose and a book
For I am the Damascene whose profession is passion
Whose singing turns the herbs green
A Damascene moon travels through my blood
Nightingales . . . and grain . . . and domes
From Damascus, jasmine begins its whiteness
And fragrances perfume themselves with her scent
From Damascus, water begins . . . for wherever
You lean your head, a stream flows
And poetry is a sparrow spreading its wings
Over Sham . . . and a poet is a voyager
From Damascus, love begins . . . for our ancestors
Worshipped beauty, they dissolved it, and they melted away
From Damascus, horses begin their journey
And the stirrups are tightened for the great conquest
From Damascus, eternity begins . . . and with her
Languages remain and genealogies are preserved
And Damascus gives Arabism its form
And on its land, epochs materialize
poem by Nizar Qabbani
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
One Saturday Morning At The Mountain Top Inside The House
it is raining outside
it is the habitualness of the image that flows inside us
green grass and rolling hills and clouds a drifting
the sound of rain like footsteps of children playing under the shower from heaven
i sit upon a chair looking outside
i am not thinking about anything simply watching the rain
the green grass
the trees the sea and the horizon that extends more than what my eyes can see
more than what i can contain
this empty bowl with a wide mouth open
this hollowness that cannot speak because it does not have the exact words
to say
it seems to me that the correct existence that fills this void is nothing
but the silence of the trees, the grass, the hills and the far away seas
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lahijan on my mind
Hills of tea
Sheitan Koh
Three trees on the corner of
The pool
Dubliners
Waste land
Ziba restaurant
Justice and freedom
Shimmering in the eyes of green frogs
Pitter patter of rain
On the pots of the houses
Tramping in the allies
With tall brick walls
Balcony and old man
Green city
Green girls
Green dreams
Put me under lashes!
poem by Framarz Bagheri
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Your Dance My Love
you are so beautiful when you start to dance
when all the leaves fall off from your arms
naked, i have seen everything that your earth has to offer:
your hills and trees and forest, your creeks and rivers,
your clouds and seas, your grass and flowers
i have seen them all and touched them
your hills i have climbed
your trees with sweet fruits
i have gathered them all
and bit and sucked and savored each sap and juice
its flesh and fiber
i have slept on your grass
i have smelled your flowers
i have gazed on your clouds and have taken the dive
on your seas
i have sailed on your rivers
i have bathed on your creeks
i have done everything for you to please you my love
yet why are your eyes so sad tonight?
you are like a moon fading in the dark
you are like the song of a bird dissolving in distance.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Days of April
O, my days of April, I've pined for you so long
And waited to see your gardens return where they belong
O, my days of April, which find me with a fellow
Do you see my new smile outglowing daffodills yellow?
O, my days of April, you leave me sleepless in your splendor
You find me beneath the shaded trees in his arms tender
Marveling beneath the orange sunlight that covers the grassy hills
Feeling the blissful breeze travel where it wills
O, my days of April, his voice hums like your honey bees
It often sends my heart on happy little sprees
And as we swim through the land of lavender seas
I thank you for the days you bring such as these
O, my days of April, he smells like your fresh rain
That waters the mowed grass in the thirsty plains
His eyes shine like the diamonds you leave on the blades
I hold them to my memory to escape December days
O, my days of April, remember you'll live forevermore
Your cloudless days and golden rays always will knock at May's door
And your flowers will bloom so high they almost reach the gables
But remember us, remember us, my sweet days of April
poem by Whitney Albright
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Venice Drowning
Venice breathing, shiny shoe mirrors of sex and violence,
In the purple evening silence, venice dreaming of a partner.
Fill your arms with breasts of marble, from the cradle to the table
Coax this naked treasure, from your saviour.
Come swim into my love
Come swim into my life
Divine blasphemer tempting, holly beads of jism
With a scarlet catechism, her lips will answer
(ah, her lips will answer)
How to be, the perfect stranger, the perfect lover - wanting
And as youll discover - giving, and as youll discover - being.
Come swim into my love
Come swim into my life
Enter this sublime corrosion
Venice drowning in emotion
-
(the body stirs, and is reanimated, only briefly,
But then life is very brief)
(come swim into my life)
(come swim into my life)
(ah-ahh ah-ah ah-ah-whoo heyyey)
Venice drowning!
Venice drowning!
Venice drowning!
Venice drowning!
Venice drowning!
Venice drowning! (slowly disappearing..)
Venice drowning! (slowly disappearing..)
Venice drowning! (slowly disappearing..)
Venice drowning!.... (slowly disappearing..)
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Oh To Be Back Home In Ireland (To Jo)
Oh to be back home in Ireland now that April winds are blowing
And the weather getting milder and the green grass is a growing
And the breath of Spring is in the air and daylight hours grow long
And the skylark o'er the heather sings his merry April song.
Oh to be back home in Ireland the Country of my birth
The Land where I was bred and raised the greenest Land on Earth,
Land of the grassy valleys and scenic heather hills
Of murmuring brooks and rivers and rippling mountain rills.
I have travelled thousands of miles from my home in County Cork
I have been to London City and westward to New York,
I have seen the lights of Paris and the seven hills of Rome
But my heart is always yearning for my Country and my home.
And it's oh to be in Ireland now that April days are here
And the wildborn birds are singing in the Springtime of the year
And the wildflowers are a blooming and new leaves grow on the trees
In the Country I was raised in way beyond Atlantic seas.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Moors
NOT in rich glebe and ripe green garden only
Does Summer weave her sweet resistless spells,
But in high hills, and moorlands waste and lonely,
The vast enchantment of her presence dwells.
Wide sky, and sky-wide waste of thyme and heather,
Perpetual sleepy hum of golden bees--
If you and I were only there together,
Free from the weight of all your garden's trees!
The north is mine; though bred by elm and meadow,
Pines, torrents, rocks, and moors my heart loves best;
I love the plover's wail, the cleft hill's shadow,
The sun-browned grass that is the skylark's nest.
Ah, yes! you too I love, dear wistful pleader,
You most I love, dear southern rose, half-blown,
And rather lounge with you beneath your cedar,
Than greet the moor's wide heaven-on-earth alone.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The alliance with air Berlin is attractive for me. I can use the whole sales network of the air Berlin and 24 percent of my own airline at air Berlin sold.
quote by Niki Lauda
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Oahu
Here on this island, summer never sleeps.
In the green valleys, smoke in cane-time drifts
With mist—frail tide that laps the chasmed deeps
Between the steep clean hills as the sea-tide
Once washed the silent hidden hollow rifts
And unseen valleys of its unborn bride.
Sea-bride, child of earth’s red molten womb,
Daughter of fire and chaos long since sleeping,
Who were the people that made your green hills bloom?
Wedded to the seas they were, like you;
From the dark sea, while you your watch were keeping,
They came to make their destined rendezvous.
The broad bare feet step forth on virgin sand,
And eyes raise to the green eternal hills:
Gray mist, green hills and fertile red-clay land,
Alone no more. The carefree caroling laughter
Drifts inland, where valley mist distills
The songs that shall be sung forever after.
poem by S.J. Fulton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The IX Ode to Horace
HORACE.
While I was pleasing to your arms,
Nor any youth, of happier charms,
Thy snowy bosom blissful prest,
Not Portia's like me was blest.
LYDIA.
While for no other fair you burn'd,
Nor Lydia was for Chloe scorn'd
What maid was then so blest as thine?
Not [xx's] flame could equal mine.
HORACE.
Me Chloe now possesses whole,
Her voice her lyre command my soul;
For whom Ill gladly die, to save
Her dearer beauties from the grave.
LYDIA.
My heart young Calats inspires,
Whose bosom glows with mutal fires,
For whom I twice would die with joy,
If death would spare the charming boy.
HORACE.
Yet what if love, whole bards we broke,
Again should tame us to the yoke;
Should I shake off bright Chloe's chain,
And take my Lydia home again?--
LYDIA.
Though he exceed in beauty far
The rising lustre of a star;
Though light as cork thy fancy strays,
Thy passions wild as angry seas,
When vex'd with storms; yet gladly I
With thee would live, with thee would die.
poem by Major Henry Livingston Jr.
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Nine Cities Of Six Lines
New York is ultimate but too old a memory to know
San Fran in Fall which is there summer
Prague, Paris and London see first across the sea
Berlin for a once divided world
Venice to debunk the hype
Casablanca - Fez when you've seen the rest.
poem by Bill Grace
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Never Say Trust Me
The sky above is filled with stars the road is long - no cars are in sight
With one hand on the wheel Ive been driving all day I can drive all night
Im headed for home with one thing on my mind yeah
Every hotel I have seen has arbor-right chairs, arbor right dreams
Office parties and wedding pals and tacky pictures on the walls
Pretty barmaid to and fro the barman plays the songs we know
She gets into twist and shout and its boozing time and Im down and out
Thats my second home yeah what more can I say lord
You should never say trust me
Its already been done
Its already been done
Beneath the seas beneath the trees and under the sun
Never say trust me
My faith in you is all you need
Love is all I need
The sky above is filled with stars may God bless you is all I can say
Cats and dogs and baby smiles will drive my loneliness away
What will be will be yeah
That is all that I know girl
You should never say trust me
cause I know youll be there
Yes I know youll be there
Ill be a right as rain can be
This is our love affair
Never say trust me
My faith in you is all you need
Love is all I need
You should never say trust me
Its already been done
Its already been done
Beneath the seas beneath the trees
And under the sun
And under the sun
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Green Home
Green Home
By Lori Triggs
Copyrighted 2009
I wish to have a green home to look like
A sinter block stucco 4 or 5 bedroom Italian villa home
With one floor even two master bedrooms and master baths.
I wish to have a green home made of
Reclaimed light woods with marbles,
Glass tiles even gradients the look of new.
I wish for many long with wide windows even
Long with wide double windows to see from,
And with fancy French doors in the bedrooms even den.
I want reclaimed blue jeans for installation for the home
With solar panels even water wells are off the grid with
Energy saving appliances and furnace that is very green to me.
I want a green home with polished brass faucets even fancy knobs
With towel racks of the same to look sleek and shiny even new,
Sinter block stucco wall 10 to 20 feet high with iron gates opens as sliders.
I want allot of lush gardens with
Butterfly bushes, all butterfly plants, even
Hummingbird plants even dragonfly planets with palm trees too
So I can sit and write in the lay Nile or by the pool even in the gardens.
poem by Lori Triggs
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Disregard Me, Please
I lay upon the ground
on my knees and destitute,
pleading with my eyes
before your throne.
'Tis a clash of wills,
as I stare into your cold jaded eyes.
You always look so bored,
so uninterested lately,
and despite how it my seem,
I kind of don't care.
I knew the woods were my only friend.
There's something about the silence,
the silence behind the noise,
that puts my mind at ease.
I guess I know the trees won't judge me.
No, they'll be the ones to take me.
Don't be sad,
though I doubt you will,
and make no mistake,
this isn't self pity.
I've already embraced it.
Where do I go,
when my whole world's gone?
Loneliness is my true friend.
When even the trees,
who were once my back,
shun me, I'll walk,
walk to my grave and wait.
poem by Soren Valentine
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Song of the Trees
1
WE are the Trees.
Our dark and leafy glade
Bands the bright earth with softer mysteries.
Beneath us changed and tamed the seasons run:
In burning zones, we build against the sun
Long centuries of shade.
2
We are the Trees,
Who grow for man’s desire,
Heat in our faithful hearts, and fruits that please.
Dwelling beneath our tents, he lightly gains
The few sufficiencies his life attains—
Shelter, and food, and fire.
3
We are the Trees
That by great waters stand,
By rills that murmur to our murmuring bees.
And where, in tracts all desolate and waste,
The palm-foot stays, man follows on, to taste
Springs in the desert sand.
4
We are the Trees
Who travel where he goes
Over the vast, inhuman, wandering seas.
His tutors we, in that adventure brave—
He launched with us upon the untried wave,
And now its mastery knows.
5
We are the Trees
Who bear him company
In life and death. His happy sylvan ease
He wins through us; through us, his cities spread
That like a forest guard his unfenced head
’Gainst storm and bitter sky.
6
We are the Trees.
On us the dying rest
Their strange, sad eyes, in farewell messages.
And we, his comrades still, since earth began,
Wave mournful boughs above the grave of man,
And coffin his cold breast.
poem by Mary Colborne-Veel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Natural Green
Who coloured the green trees?
Who coloured the green grass?
Who coloured the green hills?
How about my green spider plant? ?
Green, Green, you are so glorious green...
An abundance of beautiful green, not coloured, but just natural and kind.
Makes me wonder how your creation of green came to life....
A ride on a helicopter over the huge Rain Forest and see nothing, but acres & acres of simply gorgeous green!
Green, Green, you are so glorious green...
An abundance of beautiful green, not coloured, but just natural and kind.
Makes me wonder how your creation of green came to life...
GREEN, I admire and respect the vitality you bring in the air that I breathe...
poem by Premila Patel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
For a Good Cause and Care
Tides are high
Tides are deep
With a sigh
I cannot sleep,
Thinking of my long hair
I wish I could keep.
To cut it I would not dare
For I know it is a part of me.
However I know that hair
Grows back within each week
And I know I have the heart to share.
Even though for a moment I will weep,
It is for a good cause and care,
For my hair will grow back everytime I sleep
Just as much as tides are high
Tides are deep
Even if they go away in a chime,
They come back and up the beach they creep
Every day and for all of time.
So I know I can always keep
My hair for it will grow as tides do each time
As the seas swells and heaves as it sleeps.
poem by Music Galore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
sligo dream of Lorca
I dream of lorca
as the hills are lit by dawn.
The Sligo landscape into view,
the farmers wife with porridge
the breakfast makes.
The farmers early breakfasting
for sheep hills to be tended,
the cows awaken in the dawn,
the son in Boston breaks the
mother distant heart,
the field yields slow.
The outline of the trees,
seen at night as shadow,
into life will come at day,
as Lorca dies beneath the blows
as Christ three times he falls.
As he falls the frosted dawn,
the yearning pining of the sligo
hill comes into view beneath
the slow sun start.
I dream of lorca as he falls beneath
the blow of ignorance, beneath
the meadow copse and field of Spain.
Though vines cry and grapes bleed.
And green is the land,
where to school by the gate he would have passed
to learning,
and the farmer eats the toast and egg,
the day is cast,
and into shape the dream emerges
from the falling down,
the falling down of Lorca,
in another place
brings in the light of day.
poem by Bernard Kennedy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Travels By The Fireside. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fourth)
The ceaseless rain is falling fast,
And yonder gilded vane,
Immovable for three days past,
Points to the misty main,
It drives me in upon myself
And to the fireside gleams,
To pleasant books that crowd my shelf,
And still more pleasant dreams,
I read whatever bards have sung
Of lands beyond the sea,
And the bright days when I was young
Come thronging back to me.
In fancy I can hear again
The Alpine torrent's roar,
The mule-bells on the hills of Spain,
The sea at Elsinore.
I see the convent's gleaming wall
Rise from its groves of pine,
And towers of old cathedrals tall,
And castles by the Rhine.
I journey on by park and spire,
Beneath centennial trees,
Through fields with poppies all on fire,
And gleams of distant seas.
I fear no more the dust and heat,
No more I feel fatigue,
While journeying with another's feet
O'er many a lengthening league.
Let others traverse sea and land,
And toil through various climes,
I turn the world round with my hand
Reading these poets' rhymes.
From them I learn whatever lies
Beneath each changing zone,
And see, when looking with their eyes,
Better than with mine own.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!