Astrophel and Stella: XV
You that do search for every purling spring
Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows,
And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows
Near thereabouts, into your poesy wring;
Ye that do dictionary's method bring
Into your rimes, running in rattling rows;
You that poor Petrarch's long-deceased woes
With new-born sighs and denizen'd wit do sing:
You take wrong ways; those far-fet helps be such
As do bewray a want of inward touch,
And sure, at length stol'n goods do come to light.
But if, both for your love and skill, your name
You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of Fame,
Stella behold, and then begin to endite.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Sonnet XV: You That Do Search
You that do search for every purling spring,
Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows,
And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows
Near thereabouts, into your poesy wring;
You that do dictionary's method bring
Into your rimes, running in rattling rows;
You that poor Petrarch's long-deceased woes,
With new-born sighs and denizen'd wit do sing,
You take wrong ways: those far-fet helps be such
As do bewray a want of inward touch:
And sure at length stol'n goods do come to light.
But if (both for your love and skill) your name
You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of Fame,
Stella behold, and then begin to endite.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Where the passion flower grows
Lay down on your pillow
and turn the lights down low
let me take you to the garden
where the passion flower grows
Close your eyes and enter dreams
as love's emotion sets the scene
and flitters through the garden
where the passion flower grows
Touch the tender petals
of the flower as she grows
a tentative endeavour
as your feelings overflow
Let me draw you to the place
where ecstasy can be embraced
the beauty of the garden
where the passion flower grows
Feel your mind exploding
in the heavy scented air
experience the shiver
as your captured unaware
A little touch of heaven
where imagination flows
the valley in the garden
where the passion flower grows.
poem by Charles M. Moore
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To John Forbes, Esq.
ON HIS BRINGING ME FLOWERS FROM VAUCLUSE, AND
WHICH HE HAD PRESERVED BY MEANS OF
AN INGENIOUS PROCESS IN THEIR
ORIGINAL BEAUTY.
SWEET spoils of consecrated bowers,
How dear to me these chosen flowers!
I love the simplest bud that blows,
I love the meanest weed that grows:
Symbols of nature--every form
That speaks of her this heart can warm;
But ye, delicious flowers, assume
In fancy's eye a brighter bloom;
A dearer pleasure ye diffuse,
Cull'd by the fountain of Vaucluse!
For ye were nurtur'd on the sod
Where PETRARCH mourn'd, and LAURA trod;
Ye grew on that inspiring ground
Where love has shed enchantment round;
Where still the tear of passion flows,
Fond tribute to a poet's woes!
Yet, cherish'd flowers, with love and fame
This wreath entwines a milder name;
Friendship, who better knows than they
The spells that smooth our length'ning way,--
Friendship the blooming off'ring brought;
When FORBES the classic fountain sought,
For me he cull'd the fresh-blown flowers,
And fix'd their hues with potent powers;
Their pliant forms with skilful care
He seized, and stamp'd duration there;
His gift shall ever glad the eye,--
Nor, like my verse is born to die.
poem by Helen Maria Williams
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Spring Has Sprung
Spring has sprung
With the abundance
Of blossoming flowers
The feel of affection
With kindling of love
When two souls meet
The spring bring such delight
In the early morning light
With hearts of satisfaction
Spring brings sweet smells
Of lily of the valley
Where the green grass grows
Where the water flows
And children are playing
With fun and laughter
One would say that
Spring has sprung
With such loveliness
That can only be felt
This time of year
With such an exhilaration
poem by Scott Austin
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Song
Not the soft sighs of vernal gales,
The fragrance of the flowery vales,
The murmurs of the crystal rill,
The vocal grove, the verdant hill;
Not all their charms, though all unite,
Can touch my bosom with delight.
Not all the gems on India's shore,
Not all Peru's unbounded store,
Not all the power, nor all the fame,
That heroes, kings, or poets claim;
Nor knowledge which the learn'd approve,
To form one wish my soul can move.
Yet Nature's charms allure my eyes,
And knowledge, wealth, and fame I prize;
Fame, wealth, and knowledge I obtain,
Nor seek I Nature's charms in vain;
In lovely Stella all combine,
And, lovely Stella! thou art mine.
poem by Samuel Johnson
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My other Talent –Poesy
God is to me very kind;
To His tenets, I always bind;
My Poetry is but His gift!
My soul from Him can’t shift
Yet, peace of mind gets disturbed oft,
In search of worldly pleasures loft;
In vain, I seek them, time is lost;
And soul remains sin-cast.
My foes and woes trouble me much;
Sometimes, I feel I am a wretch!
And when I search my mind again,
God helps me solace regain.
My Poesy has made me fit;
My body, mind, soul bit by bit;
I talk with God who guides me right;
He tells me what’s wrong, correct.
With time, my soul regains due course;
My Poetry, my sin absolves;
Immersed in it, I find great peace,
Of mind and I am at ease.
Thoughts divine in me prevail;
My ship of Poesy sets sail;
It is an unchartered voyage;
That’s safe with God’s message.
God is my beacon and compass!
Invisible Captain of my ship;
I am the driver, novice,
‘Tis my maiden voyage.
My heart is full of confidence;
Impermanent’s my residence;
The weather lovely, calm for now;
My ship is on the move somehow!
poem by John Celes
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Sonnet 36: Stella, Whence Doth This
Stella, whence doth this new assault arise,
A conquer'd, yielden, ransack'd heart to win?
Whereto long since through my long batter'd eyes,
Whole armies of thy beauties entered in.
And there long since, Love thy lieutenant lies,
My forces raz'd, thy banners rais'd within:
Of conquest, do not these effects suffice,
But wilt now war upon thine own begin?
With so sweet voice, and by sweet Nature so
In sweetest strength, so sweetly skill'd withal,
In all sweet stratagems sweet Art can show,
That not my soul, which at thy foot did fall
Long since, forc'd by thy beams, but stone nor tree
By Sense's privilege, can 'scape from thee.
poem by Philip Sidney
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It Is You I Dream Of
a flower grows from beneath a blanket
of fine and purest white
it reaches toward the sun for warmth
for heat and for the light
my love for you grows stronger still
despite the surrounding cold
my heart is yours, bartered gone
for yours has it been sold
its petals shine from morning dew
its stem grows stiff and strong
it stands strong through the freezing cold
it stands the winter long
i long for you, for your soft touch
i miss the way you smile
the longer that we stay apart
the longer every mile
the flower stretches through the snow
it reaches toward the sun
and now without you the color is gone
the flower's petals, done
but as we talk, and as we learn
the flower comes back to life
the snow now melts and goes away
as you take away my strife
spring is here and growth abounds
as you and i are one
we are together, we are in love
the snow for now is done
i see the future, in dreams i have
of our life, long and true
i see the times where all i need
are comforting words from you
i see the times when winter comes
as winter tends to do
but we still love, and we still live
and i do still love you
trudy lynn gordon
poem by Trudy Gordon
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Sonnet 87: When I Was Forc'd From Stella
When I was forc'd from Stella, ever dear
Stella, food of my thoughts, heart of my heart;
Stella, whose eyes make all my tempests clear,
By iron laws of duty to depart:
Alas I found that she with me did smart;
I saw that tears did in her eyes appear;
I saw that sighs her sweetest lips did part,
And her sad words my saddest sense did hear.
For me, I wept to see pearls scatter'd so;
I sigh'd her sighs, and wailed for her woe,
Yet swam in joy, such love in her was seen.
Thus, while th'effect most bitter was to me,
And nothing than the couse more sweet could be,
I had been vex'd, if vex'd I had not been.
poem by Philip Sidney
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He's Sad
Seems he's there again knows where to begin it helps him carry on
And he likes the way it feels, for awhile he is happy then he fades away..
But he's sad cos he's running out on you
Running out on you
Running out on you
Running out on you
He's a boy up in a tree and the wind has begun to blow
And its useless standing there
And he looks up at the stars and he feels like he's going home
and he likes the way it feels...
But he's sad cos he's running out on you
Running out on you
Running out on you
Running out on you
Running backward, falling over, knowing I can't be there for you
Running out on you (x9)
Seems he's there again knows where to begin it helps him carry on
And he likes the way it feels
song performed by by Zed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unseen
Seems he's there again knows where to begin it helps him carry on
And he likes the way it feels, for awhile he is happy then he fades away..
But he's sad cos he's running out on you
Running out on you
Running out on you
Running out on you
He's a boy up in a tree and the wind has begun to blow
And its useless standing there
And he looks up at the stars and he feels like he's going home
and he likes the way it feels...
But he's sad cos he's running out on you
Running out on you
Running out on you
Running out on you
Running backward, falling over, knowing I can't be there for you
Running out on you (x9)
Seems he's there again knows where to begin it helps him carry on
And he likes the way it feels
song performed by by Zed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet 67: Hope, Art Thou True
Hope, art thou true, or dost thou flatter me?
Doth Stella now begin with piteous eye
The ruins of her conquest to espy:
Will she take time, before all wracked be?
Her eye's speech is translated thus by thee.
But failst thou not in phrase so heav'nly high?
Look on again, the fair text better try:
What blushing notes dost thou in margin see?
What sighs stol'n out, or kill'd before full born?
Hast thou found such and such like arguments?
Or art thou else to comfort me foresworn?
Well, how so thou interpret the contents,
I am resolv'd thy error to maintain,
Rather than by more truth to get more pain.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Spring Song III
HERE'S the Spring-time, Sweet!
Earth's green gown is new,
Lambs begin to bleat,
Doves begin to coo,
Birds begin to woo
In the wood and lane;
Sweet, the tale is true
Spring is here again!
I have been discreet
All the winter through;
Now, before your feet,
Blossoms let me strew.
Flowers, as yet, are few;
Will my lady deign
Take this flower or two?
Spring is here again
Make the year complete,
Give the Spring her due!
All the flowers entreat,
All the song-birds sue.
'Twixt the green and blue
Let Love wake and reign,
Let me worship you--
Spring is here again!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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On This Night
(McDonaldHarrisChiaravalle)
In a world of no hope
A light will shine brightly
That all men might know
The meaning of mercy and of
Love beyond all love
The peace that rests the soul
The heart will open
And search no more
[Chorus:]
Behold I bring you tidings
Tidings of great joy
The world has found it's answer
In a child that's born
On this night
Sing out across the seas
Cry out from the mountains
The son of man is born
So sing of his mercy and his
Peace beyond all peace
The king of kings has come
(let) every heart surrender
Every soul reborn
[Chorus]
song performed by by Michael Mcdonald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dual Divided
Quiet flows a small river
And a small boat floats on its silence.
Nothing goes wrong for some time-
Nothing goes wrong....
There blooms a flower on the face of the lone sailor
As the river recedes and his boat triumphs forward,
He begins to sing a song-
A sweet song...
Nothing goes wrong for some more time-
Nothing goes wrong.
A small wind blows,
It grows into a storm next,
The song stops for at once
And the boat turns upside down.
The sea emerges
And it embraces the river.
Nothing goes wrong.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Love Is Strength
Love alone is great in might,
Makes the heavy burden light,
Smooths rough ways to weary feet,
Makes the bitter morsel sweet:
Love alone is strength!
Might that is not born of Love
Is not Might born from above,
Has its birthplace down below
Where they neither reap nor sow:
Love alone is strength!
Love is stronger than all force,
Is its own eternal source;
Might is always in decay,
Love grows fresher every day:
Love alone is strength!
Little ones, no ill can chance;
Fear ye not, but sing and dance;
Though the high-heaved heaven should fall
God is plenty for us all:
God is Love and Strength!
poem by George MacDonald
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Spring
In spring
The tender leaves spring
And release the coiled mind to spring
And fling
The thing
That till then did wring.
In spring
The little birds sing
And sling the depressed mind to swing
And bring
Bells of joy
To ring and cling.
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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I want to feel the touch of spring
The mountain waits for the snow thru the hot summer,
hurt and burnt by the sun, yet believes the touch of snow
It snows and covers the mountain like a blanket of love
I want to be the mountain to feel the touch of snow.
The sand of a dried river waits for the rain to shower,
dried and chared by heat, yet believes the touch of rain.
It rains and fills the river, to bring the life again
I want to be the dried river to feel the touch of rain.
The flower waits for the spring thru the harsh winter
Frozen and frosted by cold, yet belives the touch of spring
It warms up and the spring arrives, to flower and spread happiness around
I want to be the flower to feel the touch of spring.
This is the law of nature we have to wait thru summer and winter
hurt, burnt, bleeded, and freezed, yet should believe the touch of spring
God will show Love for those who can enjoy his summer and winter
I want to believe in Love and feel the touch of spring.
poem by Arayath Jathin
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For Lillian
She was so dear, so fair. Her memory stays,
Even her dying robs me not of this,
That I have walked with her in mortal ways
Whose tender beauty now immortal is.
There are sweet flowers that bloom in ways forlorn
And sad sweet eyes whose beauty is a flower
Blown in the night to which there is no morn,
Dream-born and dying in its dewy bower;
And she was such a flower, her sweet eyes such;
The secret hours that only the heart knows
Thrill with the glamour of her tone and touch
Like music that is sweetest at the close,
Falling to death as falls the fairest thing
Beyond the power of love's recovering.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Astrophel and Stella: XXIII
The curious wits, seeing dull pensiveness
Bewray itself in my long-settl'd eyes,
Whence those same fumes of melancholy rise,
With idle pains and missing aim do guess.
Some, that know how my spring I did address,
Deem that my Muse some fruit of knowledge plies;
Others, because the prince my service tries,
Think that I think state errors to redress;
But harder judges judge ambition's rage--
Scourge of itself, still climbing slipp'ry place--
Holds my young brain captiv'd in golden cage.
O fool or over-wise! alas, the race
Of all my thoughts hath neither stop nor start
But only Stella's eyes and Stella's heart.
poem by Philip Sidney
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