En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Sonnet 42: Oh Eyes, Which Do The Spheres

Oh eyes, which do the spheres of beauty move,
Whose beams be joys, whose joys all virtues be,
Who while they make Love conquer, conquer Love,
The schools where Venus hath learn'd chastity;

Oh eyes, whose humble looks most glorious prove,
Only lov'd tyrants, just in cruelty,
Do not, oh do not from poor me remove,
Keep still my zenith, ever shine on me.

For though I never see them, but straightways
My life forgets to nourish languish'd sprites;
Yet still on me, oh eyes, dart down your rays:

And if from majesty of sacred lights,
Oppressing mortal sense, my death proceed,
Wracks triumphs be, which Love (high set) doth breed.

poem by Philip Sidney
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Sonnet 76: She Comes, And Straight Therewith

She comes, and straight therewith her shining twins do move
Their rays to me, who in her tedious absence lay
Benighted in cold woe; but now appears my day,
The only light of joy, the only warmth of love.

She comes with light and warmth, which like Aurora prove
Of gentle force, so that mine eyes dare gladly play
With such a rosy morn, whose beams most freshly gay
Scorch not, but only do dark chilling sprites remove.

But lo, while I do speak, it groweth noon with me,
Her flamy glist'ring lights increase with time and place;
My heart cries, Ah, it burns; mine eyes now dazzl'd be:

No wind, no shade can cool, what help then in my case,
But with short breath, long looks, staid feet and walking head,
Pray that my sun go down with meeker beams to bed.

poem by Philip Sidney
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A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning

As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
"Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."

So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears;
Men reckon what it did, and meant;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love
—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove
The thing which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just
And makes me end where I begun.

poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Only Love Can Conquer All

(narada michael walden/s.j.dakota/p.glass)
They tell us its better
That people should stay with their own kind
Divided by colour, afraid to be hurt by the other (yeah)
What if we try talking
Well see were the same on the inside
Cant let it, cant let hatred rule
Let your love in
Only love can conquer all
Only love can break down the walls
Only love can conquer all
Only love (only love)
Only love (only love)
Oh yeah
The wheel keeps, keeps on turning
We pass all our fears to our children
Rule the playground
The lines are all drawn into colours (yes)
What if we, we try harder
What if we reach out to each other (to each other)
Cant let it, cant let hatred rule
Let your love in
Let your love in
Only love can conquer all
Only love can break down the walls
Only love can conquer all
Only love (only love)
Only love (only love)
Oh yeah
Only love can conquer all
Only love can break down these walls
Only love can conquer all
Only love (only love)
Only love (only love)
Only love
(only love)
Only love
(only love)
Only only only
Only love
(only love)
Only love
(only love)
Only love

song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Essence of Love I

The youth isn’t timeless,
The beauty is certainly exhausted at the significant time,
The light of the passionate eyes
Will certainly fade away;
Than for which I do proud for love.

O the blind lover,
Learn the truth,
And learn the love.
The love doesn’t concern with moralistic qualities.
The love comes from heaven
And love is cherished, nourished, and fulfilled by heaven;
And this love meets its ends in heaven,
The ultimate happiness of human mortal souls.

When the eyes fell in the passionate glimpses of eyes,
Those eyes find the heaven on it,
Not the mortal beauty of glimpsing.
As the beauty attracts
Nor for the mortal one
But for the heaven which can be found in the soul.
This is love which confines in truth,
The truth of heaven
And the truth of immortality.

All will be decayed by time but love will exist,
All will be vanished by time but love will exist,
All will be exhausted by time but love will exist.
Love, love and only love
And the soul which deserves love
Gets the immortality
And never perishes by time.

This is the fact
The fact of life
And the fact of love.
It is the truth of love,
It is the secret of love,
And it is the worth of love.

As thy soul love,
Learn the haven will come
To make the mingle of heart,
The mingle which creates heaven
Is the sanctified love.
The Heaven is here in the love of heart
The surround in the earthen earth
Where love does prevail
Heaven is firmly perceived there.

poem by Md. Moniruzzaman
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Song

Who hath his fancy pleased
With fruits of happy sight,
Let here his eyes be raised
On Nature's sweetest light;
A light which doth dissever
And yet unite the eyes,
A light which, dying never,
Is cause the looker dies.

She never dies, but lasteth
In life of lover's heart;
He ever dies that wasteth
In love his chiefest part:
Thus is her life still guarded
In never-dying faith;
Thus is his death rewarded,
Since she lives in his death.

Look then, and die! The pleasure
Doth answer well the pain:
Small loss of mortal treasure,
Who may immortal gain!
Immortal be her graces,
Immortal is her mind;
They, fit for heavenly places--
This, heaven in it doth bind.

But eyes these beauties see not,
Nor sense that grace descries;
Yet eyes deprived be not
From sight of her fair eyes--
Which, as of inward glory
They are the outward seal,
So may they live still sorry,
Which die not in that weal.

But who hath fancies pleased
With fruits of happy sight,
Let here his eyes be raised
On Nature's sweetest light!

poem by Philip Sidney
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Eyes Of Silver

Tom johnston
Eyes of silver hungry and aware
Eyes of silver, your mystic love I share
cause Im hungry baby
For the love you give away
Kick out all that stupid pride
Thats standin in my way
Inside my loving eyes are open wide
Eyes of silver, on which I shall rely
Diamonds are forever, and gold can make you lie
But your eyes of silver shine on, shine on
Blades of steel have helped a man to conquer all
Rubies by the hundreds fill the taj mahal
Eyes of silver, you tell me what I need
To bring this cold and lonely man
Down to his bended knees
Inside my lovin arms are open wide
For you eyes of silver
On which I shall rely
Diamonds and gold make you lie, lie, lie
But your eyes of silver, they shine on, shine on
Eyes of silver, baby, shine on, shine on
Baby, shining, yeah yeah, yeah, baby shining

song performed by by Doobie Brothers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Coronet for his Mistress, Philosophy

Muses that sing love's sensual empery,
And lovers kindling your enraged fires
At Cupid's bonfires burning in the eye,
Blown with the empty breath of vain desires;
You that prefer the painted cabinet
Before the wealthy jewels it doth store ye,
That all your joys in dying figures set,
And stain the living substance of your glory;
Abjure those joys, abhor their memory,
And let my love the honour'd subject be
Of love, and honour's complete history.
Your eyes were never yet let in to see
The majesty and riches of the mind,
But dwell in darkness; for your god is blind.

poem by George Chapman
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The Joy Of The Lord Is Your Strength

Joy is a fruit that will not grow
In nature's barren foil;
All we can boast, till Christ we know,
Is vanity and toil.

But where the Lord has planted grace;
And made his glories known;
There fruits of heavenly joy and peace
Are found, and there alone.

A bleeding Saviour seen by faith,
A sense of pard'ning love;
A hope that triumphs over death,
Give joys like those above.

To take a glimpse within the veil,
To know that God is mine;
Are springs of joy that never fail,
Unspeakably divine!

These are the joys which satisfy,
And sanctify the mind;
Which make the spirit mount on high,
And leave the world behind.

No more, believers, mourn your lot,
But if you are the Lord's
Resign to them that know him not,
Such joys as earth affords.

poem by John Newton
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Sonnet. To A Lady Seen For A Few Moments At Vauxhall

Time's sea hath been five years at its slow ebb,
Long hours have to and fro let creep the sand,
Since I was tangled in thy beauty's web,
And snared by the ungloving of thine hand.
And yet I never look on midnight sky,
But I behold thine eyes' well memory'd light;
I cannot look upon the rose's dye,
But to thy cheek my soul doth take its flight.
I cannot look on any budding flower,
But my fond ear, in fancy at thy lips
And hearkening for a love-sound, doth devour
Its sweets in the wrong sense: -- Thou dost eclipse
Every delight with sweet remembering,
And grief unto my darling joys dost bring.

poem by John Keats
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Sonnet XXV: The Wisest Scholar

The wisest scholar of the wight most wise
By Phoebus' doom, with sugar'd sentence says,
That Virtue, if it once met with our eyes,
Strange flames of love it in our souls would raise;

But for that man with pain his truth descries,
Whiles he each thing in sense's balance weighs,
And so nor will, nor can behold those skies
Which inward sun to heroic mind displays,

Virtue of late with virtuous care to stir
Love of herself, took Stella's shape, that she
To mortal eyes might sweetly shine in her.

It is most true, for since I her did see,
Virtue's great beauty in that face I prove,
And find th'effect, for I do burn in love.

poem by Philip Sidney
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Foolish Flames

All the patients at the clinic make a hall of flames,
Admitting them into schools for the occupation;
Resting this time, a nice trick of the soul and mind,
Resting and suffering superbly, in the mind.
May celery and carrot be the real meal,
The brave ones conquer all, they just conquer.
These men and women are ghosts of children,
Killing all the time, some of us are not dead.
Death has been miraculous tonight,
Sleeping shall be fine, as more than health is absent.
Rolling the eyes helps my path and road
On the way, on the real way.
All these distresses conquer me as I speak
To the pillow and bed, the straw mat of foolery.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Conquest

Those eyes that set my fancy on a fire,
Those crispéd hairs that hold my heart in chains,
Those dainty hands which conquered my desire,
That wit which of my thoughts doth hold the reins:
Those eyes for clearness do the stars surpass,
Those hairs obscure the brightness of the sun,
Those hands more white than ever ivory was,
That wit even to the skies hath glory won.
O eyes that pierce our hearts without remorse!
O hands that conquer more than Caesar's force!
O wit that turns huge kingdoms upside down!
Then, Love, be judge, what heart may there withstand
Such eyes, such hair, such wit, and such a hand?

poem by Philippe Desportes
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Hymn 105

Heaven invisible and holy.

1 Cor. 2:9,10; Rev. 21:27.

Nor eye hath seen, nor ear hath heard,
Nor sense nor reason known,
What joys the Father hath prepared
For those that love the Son.

But the good Spirit of the Lord
Reveals a heav'n to come;
The beams of glory in his word
Allure and guide us home.

Pure are the joys above the sky,
And all the region peace;
No wanton lips nor envious eye
Can see or taste the bliss.

Those holy gates for ever bar
Polution, sin, and shame
None shall obtain admittance there
But followers of the Lamb.

He keeps the Father's book of life,
There all their names are found;
The hypocrite in vain shall strive
To tread the heav'nly ground

poem by Isaac Watts
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The Mistress

An age in her embraces passed
Would seem a winter's day;
When life and light, with envious haste,
Are torn and snatched away.

But, oh! how slowly minutes roll.
When absent from her eyes
That feed my love, which is my soul,
It languishes and dies.

For then no more a soul but shade
It mournfully does move
And haunts my breast, by absence made
The living tomb of love.

You wiser men despise me not,
Whose love-sick fancy raves
On shades of souls and Heaven knows what;
Short ages live in graves.

Whene'er those woundng eyes, so full
Of sweetness, you did see,
Had you not been profoundly dull,
You had gone mad like me.

Nor censure us, you who perceive
My best beloved and me
Sign and lament, complain and grieve;
You think we disagree.

Alas, 'tis sacred jealousy,
Love raised to an extreme;
The only proof 'twixt her and me,
We love, and do not dream.

Fantastic fancies fondly move
And in frail joys believe,
Taking false pleasure for true love;
But pain can ne'er deceive.

Kind jealous doubts, tormenting fears,
And anxious cares when past,
Prove our heart's treasure fixed and dear,
And make us blessed at last.

poem by Lord John Wilmot
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For your love

‘For your love’

Open your eyes
Take in the sights
Not in the dark love
Keep on the lights love
That’s the sight of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love

Open your nostrils
Take in the smell
It’s there In the air
The high of true love
That’s the smell of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love

Open your ears
Listen to the sounds
The sounds of heartbeats pulsating
To the beat of pure love
That’s the sound of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love

Open your mouth
Stick out your tongue
Taste the sweet love
On my loving lips
That’s the taste of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love

Open your mouth
Speak to me about love
Give me the poetry
Of everlasting love
That’s the language of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
Make my eyes glow love

Love can be a beautiful experience
Experience will let you know
That an experience lover
Will take it real slow
That’s the beauty of true love
Take it slow love
Take time to know love
My eyes glowing eternally
For your love

Michael Micmac Mccrory

poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
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Nature that Washed Her Hands in Milk

Nature, that washed her hands in milk,
And had forgot to dry them,
Instead of earth took snow and silk,
At love's request to try them,
If she a mistress could compose
To please love's fancy out of those.

Her eyes he would should be of light,
A violet breath, and lips of jelly;
Her hair not black, nor overbright,
And of the softest down her belly;
As for her inside he'd have it
Only of wantonness and wit.

At love's entreaty such a one
Nature made, but with her beauty
She hath framed a heart of stone;
So as Love, by ill destiny,
Must die for her whom nature gave him
Because her darling would not save him.

But time, which nature doth despise
And rudely gives her love the lie,
Makes hope a fool, and sorrow wise,
His hands do neither wash nor dry;
But being made of steel and rust,
Turns snow and silk and milk to dust.

The light, the belly, lips, and breath,
He dims, discolors, and destroys;
With those he feeds but fills not death,
Which sometimes were the food of joys.
Yea, time doth dull each lively wit,
And dries all wantonness with it.

Oh, cruel time, which takes in trust
Our youth, or joys, and all we have,
And pays us but with age and dust;
Who in the dark and silent grave
When we have wandered all our ways
Shuts up the story of our days.

poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
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Sonnet XVI: In Nature Apt

In nature apt to like when I did see
Beauties, which were of many carats fine,
My boiling sprites did thither soon incline,
And, Love, I thought that I was full of thee:

But finding not those restless flames in me,
Which others said did make their souls to pine,
I thought those babes of some pin's hurt did whine,
By my love judging what love's pain might be.

But while I thus with this young lion played,
Mine eyes (shall I say curst or blest?) beheld
Stella; now she is nam'd, need more be said?

In her sight I a lesson new have spell'd,
I now hav learn'd Love right, and learn'd even so,
As who by being poisoned doth poison know.

poem by Philip Sidney
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Sonnet XI

O gentle gaze, o eyes where beauty grows,
Like little gardens full of amorous flowers,
Where the bow of Love shoots his sharp arrows
And where my eyes have gazed for many hours.

O savage cruelty, o felon heart
Binding me in so many rigorous chains,
So many are my lovesick tears and pains,
Burning is the ache of my tortured heart.

Thus you, my eyes, so much delight have had,
From looking in his eyes, so much enjoyment;
But you, my heart, the more you see them glad,

The more you languish, the worse your torment.
Then guess if there is any joy for me,
Knowing my heart and eyes thus disagree.

poem by Louise Labe
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Sonnet 66: And Do I See Some Cause

And do I see some cause a hope to feed,
Or doth the tedious burden of long woe
In weaken'd minds, quick apprehension breed,
Of every image which may comfort show?

I cannot brag of word, much less of deed;
Fortune wheels still with me in one sort slow:
My wealth no more, and no whit less my need,
Desire still on the stilts of Fear doth go.

And yet amid all fears a hope there is
Stol'n to my heart, since last fair night, nay day,
Stella's eyes sent to me the beams of bliss,

Looking on me, while I look'd other way:
But when mine eyes back to their heav'n did move,
They fled with blush, which guilty seem'd of love.

poem by Philip Sidney
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Sonnet 5: It Is Most True

It is most true, that eyes are form'd to serve
The inward light; and that the heavenly part
Ought to be king, from whose rules who do swerve,
Rebles to Nature, strive for their own smart.

It is most true, what we call Cupid's dart,
An image is, which for ourselves we carve:
And, fools, adore in temple of hour heart,
Till that good God make Church and churchman starve.

True, that ture beauty virtue is indeed,
Whereof this beauty can be but a shade,
Which elements with mortal mixture breed:

True, that on earth we are but pilgrims made,
And should in soul up to our country move:
True, and yet true that I must Stella love.

poem by Philip Sidney
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