Sonnet 93: Oh Fate, Oh Fault
Oh fate, oh fault, oh curse, child of my bliss,
What sobs can give words grace my grief to show?
What ink is black enough to paint my woe?
Through me, wretch me, ev'n Stella vexed is.
Yet Truth (if caitiff's breath may call thee) this
Witness with me: that my foul stumbling so
From carelessness did in no manner grow,
But wit confus'd with too much care did miss.
And do I then myself this vain 'scuse give?
I have (live I and know this?) harmed thee;
Though worlds quite me, shall I myself forgive?
Only with pains my pains thus eased be,
That all thy hurts in my heart's wrack I read;
I cry thy sighs, my dear; thy tears I bleed.
poem by Philip Sidney
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A Woman’s Sonnets: X
Love, ere I go, forgive me each least wrong,
Each trouble I unwittingly have wrought.
My heart, my life, my tears to thee belong;
Yet have I erred, maybe, through too fond thought.
One sin, most certainly, I need to atone:
The sin of loving thee while yet unwooed.
Mine only was this wrong, this guilt alone.
The woman tempted thee from ways of good.
Forgive me too, ere thy dear pity cease,
That I denied thee, vexed thee with delay,
Sought my soul's coward shelter, not thy peace,
And having won thee still awhile said nay.
Forgive me this, that I too soon, too late,
Too wholly gave a love disconsolate.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Mary Of Magdala
Mary of Magdala came to bed;
There were no soft curtains round her head;
She had no mother to hold of worth
The little baby she brought to birth.
Mary of Magdala groaned and prayed:
'O God, I am very much afraid;
For out of my body, by sin defiled,
Thou biddest me make a little child.
'O God, I have turned my face from Thee
To that which the angels may not see;
How can I make, from my deep disgrace,
A child whose angel shall see Thy face?
'O God, I have sinned, and I know well
That the pains I bear are the pains of hell;
But the thought of the child that sin has given
Is like the thought of the airs of Heaven.'
Mary of Magdala held her breath
In the clutch of pain like the pains of Death,
And through her heart, like the mortal knife,
Went the pang of joy and the pang of life.
'We two are two alone,' said she,
'And we are two who should be three;
Now who will clothe my baby fair
In the little garments that babies wear?'
There came two angels with quiet wings
And hands that were full of baby things;
And the new-born child was bathed and dressed
And laid again on his mother's breast.
'Now who will sign on his brow the mark
To keep him safe from the Powers of the Dark?
Who will my baby's sponsor be?'
'I, the Lord God, who died for thee.'
'Now who will comfort him if he cry;
And who will suckle him by and bye?
For my hands are cold and my breasts are dry,
And I think that my time has come to die.'
'I will dandle thy son as a mother may;
And his lips shall lie where my own Son's lay.
Come, dear little one, come to me;
The Mother of God shall suckle thee.'
Mary of Magdala laughed and sighed;
'I never deserved a child,' she cried.
'Dear God, I am ready to go to hell,
Since with my little one all is well.'
Then the Son of Mary did o'er her lean.
'Poor mother, thy tears have washed thee clean.
Thy last poor pains, they will soon be done,
And My Mother shall give thee back thy son.'
Frozen grass for a bearing bed,
A halo of frost round a woman's head,
And pious folks who looked and said:
'A drab and her brat that are better dead.'
poem by Edith Nesbit
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To His Coy Love
I pray thee, leave, love me no more,
Call home the heart you gave me!
I but in vain that saint adore
Tat can but will not save me.
These poor half-kisses kill me quite
Was ever man thus served?
Amidst an ocean of delight
For pleasure to be starved?
Show me no more those snowy breasts
With azure riveters branched,
Where, whilst mine eye with plenty feasts,
Yet is my thirst not stanched;
O Tantalus, thy pains ne'er tell!
By me thou art prevented:
'Tis nothing to be plagued in Hell,
But thus in Heaven tormented.
Clip me no more in those dear arms,
Nor thy life's comfort call me,
O these are but too powerful charms,
And do but more enthral me!
But see how patient I am grown
In all this coil about thee:
Come, nice thing, let thy heart alone,
I cannot live without thee!
poem by Joshua Sylvester
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Lovers' Infiniteness
IF yet I have not all thy love,
Dear, I shall never have it all;
I cannot breathe one other sigh, to move,
Nor can intreat one other tear to fall;
And all my treasure, which should purchase thee,
Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters I have spent;
Yet no more can be due to me,
Than at the bargain made was meant.
If then thy gift of love were partial,
That some to me, some should to others fall,
Dear, I shall never have thee all.
Or if then thou gavest me all,
All was but all, which thou hadst then;
But if in thy heart since there be or shall
New love created be by other men,
Which have their stocks entire, and can in tears,
In sighs, in oaths, and letters, outbid me,
This new love may beget new fears,
For this love was not vow'd by thee.
And yet it was, thy gift being general;
The ground, thy heart, is mine; what ever shall
Grow there, dear, I should have it all.
Yet I would not have all yet.
He that hath all can have no more;
And since my love doth every day admit
New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store;
Thou canst not every day give me thy heart,
If thou canst give it, then thou never gavest it;
Love's riddles are, that though thy heart depart,
It stays at home, and thou with losing savest it;
But we will have a way more liberal,
Than changing hearts, to join them; so we shall
Be one, and one another's all.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Love's Infiniteness
If yet I have not all thy love,
Dear, I shall never have it all,
I cannot breathe one other sigh, to move,
Nor can entreat one other tear to fall,
And all my treasure, which should purchase thee,
Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters I have spent.
Yet no more can be due to me,
Than at the bargain made was meant;
If then thy gift of love were partial,
That some to me, some should to others fall,
Dear, I shall never have thee all.
Or if then thou gavest me all,
All was but all, which thou hadst then;
But if in thy heart, since, there be or shall
New love created be, by other men,
Which have their stocks entire, and can in tears,
In sighs, in oaths, and letters outbid me,
This new love may beget new fears,
For, this love was not vowed by thee.
And yet it was, thy gift being general;
The ground, thy heart, is mine, whatever shall
Grow there, dear, I should have it all.
Yet I would not have all yet;
He that hath all can have no more,
And since my love doth every day admit
New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store;
Thou canst not every day give me thy heart,
If thou canst give it, then thou never gavest it:
Love's riddles are, that though thy heart depart,
It stays at home, and thou with losing savest it:
But we will have a way more liberal,
Than changing hearts, to join them, so we shall
Be one, and one another's all.
poem by John Donne
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Hymn XXIV: Saviour, If Thy Precious Love
Saviour, if thy precious love
Could be merited by mine,
Faith these mountains would remove;
Faith would make me ever thine:
But when all my care and pains
Worth can ne'er create in me,
Nought by me thy fulness gains;
Vain the hope to purchase thee.
Cease, O man, thy worth to weigh,
Give the needless contest o'er;
Mine thou art! while thus I say,
Yield thee up, and ask no more:
What thy estimate may be,
Only can by him be told
Who, to ransom wretched thee,
Thee to gain, himself was sold.
But when all in me is sin,
How can I thy grace obtain?
How presume thyself to win?
God of love, the doubt explain:
Or if thou the means supply,
Lo to thee I all resign!
Make me Lord - I ask not why,
How I ask not, - ever thine.
poem by John Wesley
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Hymn XXIV: Saviour, If Thy Precious Love
Saviour, if thy precious love
Could be merited by mine,
Faith these mountains would remove;
Faith would make me ever thine:
But when all my care and pains
Worth can ne'er create in me,
Nought by me thy fullness gains;
Vain the hope to purchase thee.
Cease, O man, thy worth to weigh,
Give the needless contest o'er;
Mine thou art! while thus I say,
Yield thee up, and ask no more:
What thy estimate may be,
Only can by him be told
Who, to ransom wretched thee,
Thee to gain, himself was sold.
But when all in me is sin,
How can I thy grace obtain?
How presume thyself to win?
God of love, the doubt explain:
Or if thou the means supply,
Lo to thee I all resign!
Make me Lord - I ask not why,
How I ask not, - ever thine.
poem by Charles Wesley
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To His Coy Love
I PRAY thee, leave, love me no more,
Call home the heart you gave me!
I but in vain that saint adore
That can but will not save me.
These poor half-kisses kill me quite--
Was ever man thus served?
Amidst an ocean of delight
For pleasure to be starved?
Show me no more those snowy breasts
With azure riverets branched,
Where, whilst mine eye with plenty feasts,
Yet is my thirst not stanched;
O Tantalus, thy pains ne'er tell!
By me thou art prevented:
'Tis nothing to be plagued in Hell,
But thus in Heaven tormented.
Clip me no more in those dear arms,
Nor thy life's comfort call me,
O these are but too powerful charms,
And do but more enthral me!
But see how patient I am grown
In all this coil about thee:
Come, nice thing, let my heart alone,
I cannot live without thee!
poem by Michael Drayton
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The Convalescent To Her Physician
Friend, by whose cancelling hand did Fate forgive
Her debtor, and rescribe her stern award,
Oh with that happier light wherein I live
May all thine after, years be sunned and starred!
May God, to Whom my daily bliss I give
In tribute, add it to thy day's reward,
And mine uncurrent joy may'st thou receive
Celestial sterling! Aye and thou shalt thrive
Even by my vanished woes: for as the sea
Renders its griefs to Heaven, which fall in rains
Of sweeter plenty on the happy plains,
So have my tears exhaled; and may it be
That from the favouring skies my lifted pains
Descend, oh friend, in blessings upon thee!
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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The Truth
The Truth
So here we are
We are alone
There's weight on your mind
I wanna know
The truth
If this is how you feel
Say it to me
If this was ever real
[Chorus:]
I want the truth
From you
Give me the truth
Even if it hurts me
I want the truth
From you
Give me the truth
Even if it hurts me
I want the truth
So this is you
You talking to me
You found a million ways to let me down
So I'm not hurt when you're not around
I was blind
But now I see
This is how you feel
Say it to me
If this was ever real
[Chorus]
I know that this will break me
I know that this might make me cry
You gotta say what's on your mind, on your mind
I know that this will hurt me
And break my heart and soul inside
But I don't wanna live this life
[Chorus]
I don't care no more, no
Just give me the truth
Give me the truth
Cuz I don't care no more
Give me the truth
Cuz I don't care no more, no
Just give me the truth
Give me the truth
Give me the truth
Give me the truth
Give me the truth
Cuz I don't care no more, no
song performed by by Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet 69: Oh Joy, Too High For My Low Style
Oh joy, too high for my low style to show:
Oh bliss, fit for a nobler state than me:
Envy, put out thine eyes, lest thou do see
What oceans of delight in me do flow.
My friend, that oft saw through all masks my woe,
Come, come, and let me pour myself on thee;
Gone is the winter of my misery,
My spring appears, oh see what here doth grow.
For Stella hath with words where faith doth shine,
Of her high heart giv'n me the monarchy:
I, I, oh I may say that she is mine,
And though she give but thus condition'ly
This realm of bliss, while virtuous course I take,
No kings be crown'd, but they some covenants make.
poem by Philip Sidney
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In my closet
In throes of grief wit no pal nigh
my aches let out in trembling sigh
no hi from all my dearie pals
they all and sundry wandering far
just alone with me an I
no one to help dry my tearfilled eye
bleeding heart and griefsick mind
not a joy around to find
grief sticking like a second skin
sticking closer than a next of kin
so much pains for my lowly age
leaving me pleading for a saving grace
a grace to help end my painful seige
in which im so clamped in grief
so at least my tears would cease
and my pains could really ease.
poem by Saintdc Reward
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SONNET: God, what shall I render Thee?
Oh, what can I give Thee O God, my Lord?
How can I ev’r repay thy love for me?
Oh, can I call Thee by a better word?
All that I have today are Thine truly!
Oh, can I give my labour and my toil?
But still, my energy must come from Thee;
Oh, can I offer things that grow on soil?
Alas! Nothing on earth looks heavenly!
Oh, can I give my time that Thou gav’st me?
My time is meant to serve Thee through brethren;
Oh, can I give my precious life only?
If thats the way to Heaven, let me then.
Oh show me something that is truly mine!
Thou art the Fountain of my Life, divine!
poem by John Celes
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Ballad XII
Ever blessed be the day,
Be the place and be the dwelling,
That hath ended my delay,
Shown the truth I shrank from telling.
Dear friend, behold
My love is yours, a costlier gift than gold :
To Love be praise, that first the bond hath knit,
For I am filled with perfect joy from it.
Since I yielded to thy sway
When thy heart with grief was swelling,
Swiftly speeding as he may
Joy is come, my care dispelling :
Now am I bold
To give thee love, that guerdons manifold
May heal thee from thy sorrow every whit,
For I am filled with perfect joy from it.
So my soul, with God for stay,
The new blissful years foretelling,
Finds in thee, for whom I pray,
Grace and gladness all excelling.
I that of old
Gave thee but sorry cheer and comfort cold,
Am straightway turned to serve thee, as is fit,
For I am filled with perfect joy from it.
When I had told
My love, my heart was yours to have and hold :
To grief I yield not, nor to blame submit,
For I am filled with perfect joy from it.
poem by Christine de Pizan
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When He Who Adores Thee
When he, who adores thee, has left but the name
Of his fault and his sorrows behind,
Oh! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame
Of a life that for thee was resign'd?
Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn,
Thy tears shall efface their decree;
For Heaven can witness, though guilty to them,
I have been but too faithful to thee.
With thee were the dreams of my earliest love;
Every thought of my reason was thine;
In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above,
Thy name shall be mingled with mine.
Oh! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live
The days of thy glory to see;
But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give
Is the pride of thus dying for thee.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Aurobindo 90 Savitri Book 6
An appreciation on Savitri-
Book Six: The Book of Fate
Canto One: The Word of Fate
Words within inverted commas are Aurobindo's
'Then cried the sage piercing the mother's heart,
Forcing to steel the will of Savitri,
His words set free the spring of cosmic Fate.'
''The truth thou hast claimed; I give to thee the truth.'Line 531 to
'This day returning Satyavan must die.'Line 588
Fate of Satyavan revealed...
But the queen cried: 'Vain then can be heaven's grace! Line 590 to
A choice less rare may call a happier fate.'Line 608
'But Savitri answered from her violent heart, -
'Once my heart chose and chooses not again...
....I am stronger than death and greater than my fate;
My love shall outlast the world, doom falls from me
Helpless against my immortality.
Fate's law may change, but not my spirit's will.'
How determined the words here like Savitri
How determined was Savitri that we still wonder at...
'But in the queen's mind listening her words
Rang like the voice of a self-chosen Doom
Denying every issue of escape.'
'O child, in the magnificence of thy soul..Line 638 to
It greatens slowly into timeless peace.'Line 717
A mother's exemplary advice in Thou colourful words
A mother's caring plea in Thou poetic deliverance...
'But Savitri replied with steadfast eyes: '
'My will is part of the eternal Will, Line 719 to
I have seen the Eternal in a human face.'Line 755
What else could a true love ever be than immortal
And not 'Only to live and love awhile and die.'
'Then none could answer to her words. Silent
They sat and looked into the eyes of Fate.'.........
............My consciousness this moment,
O'Guru, I'm in awe....in invincible heights
Ineffable Thee embellishing poetic creation
My inquisitive apprehension, erring Thee may opine
May thereso, let Savitri in my self arise
Aroused thereso be knowledge and fortune
End of Canto One
poem by Indira Renganathan
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A girl becomes a wife with her eyes wide open. She knows that those sweetest words, 'I take thee to be my wedded husband,' really mean, 'I promise thee to cook three meals a day for 60 years thee will I clean up after thee will I talk to even when thou art not listening thee will I worry about, cry over and take all manner of hurts from.'
quote by Alan Marshall Beck
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Written A Year After The Events
Alas! how am I chang'd! Where be the tears,
The sobs, and forc'd suspensions of the breath,
And all the dull desertions of the heart,
With which I hung o'er my dead mother's corse?
Where be the blest subsidings of the storm
Within, the sweet resignedness of hope
Drawn heavenward, and strength of filial love,
In which I bow'd me to my father's will?
My God, and my Redeemer! keep not thou
My soul in brute and sensual thanklessness
Seal'd up; oblivious ever of that dear grace,
And health restor'd to my long-loved friend,
Long-lov'd, and worthy known. Thou didst not leave
Her soul in death! O leave not now, my Lord,
Thy servants in far worse, in spiritual death!
And darkness blacker than those feared shadows
Of the valley all must tread. Lend us thy balms,
Thou dear Physician of the sin-sick soul,
And heal our cleansed bosoms of the wounds
With which the world has pierc'd us thro' and thro'.
Give us new flesh, new birth. Elect of heav'n
May we become; in thine election sure
Contain'd, and to one purpose stedfast drawn,
Our soul's salvation!
Thou, and I, dear friend,
With filial recognition sweet, shall know
One day the face of our dear mother in heaven;
And her remember'd looks of love shall greet
With looks of answering love; her placid smiles
Meet with a smile as placid, and her hand
With drops of fondness wet, nor fear repulse.
Be witness for me, Lord, I do not ask
Those days of vanity to return again
(Nor fitting me to ask, nor thee to give).
Vain loves and wanderings with a fair-hair'd maid,
Child of the dust as I am, who so long
My captive heart steep'd in idolatry
And creature-loves. Forgive me, O my Maker!
If in a mood of grief I sin almost
In sometimes brooding on the days long past,
And from the grave of time wishing them back,
Days of a mother's fondness to her child,
Her little one.
O where be now those sports,
And infant play-games? where the joyous troops
Of children, and the haunts I did so love?
O my companions, O ye loved names
Of friend or playmate dear; gone are ye now;
Gone diverse ways; to honour and credit some,
And some, I fear, to ignominy and shame!
I only am left, with unavailing grief
To mourn one parent dead, and see one live
Of all life's joys bereft and desolate:
Am left with a few friends, and one, above
The rest, found faithful in a length of years,
Contented as I may, to bear me on
To the not unpeaceful evening of a day
Made black by morning storms!
September 1797
poem by Charles Lamb
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Lord, with Glowing Heart I'd Praise Thee
Lord, with glowing heart I'd praise Thee,
For the bliss Thy love bestows,
For the pardoning grace that saves me,
And the peace that from it flows:
Help, O God, my weak endeavor;
This dull soul to rapture raise:
Thou must light the flame, or never
Can my love be warmed to praise.
Praise, my soul, the God that sought thee,
Wretched wanderer, far astray;
Found thee lost, and kindly brought thee
From the paths of death away;
Praise, with love's devoutest feeling,
Him Who saw thy guilt-born fear,
And the light of hope revealing,
Bade the blood-stained cross appear.
Praise thy Savior God that drew thee
To that cross, new life to give,
Held a blood sealed pardon to thee,
Bade thee look to Him and live.
Praise the grace whose threats alarmed thee,
Roused thee from thy fatal ease;
Praise the grace whose promise warmed thee,
Praise the grace that whispered peace.
Lord, this bosom's ardent feeling
Vainly would my lips express.
Low before Thy footstool kneeling,
Deign Thy suppliant's prayer to bless:
Let Thy grace, my soul's chief treasure,
Love's pure flame within me raise;
And, since words can never measure,
Let my life show forth Thy praise.
poem by Francis Scott Key
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Ale
Now do I hear thee weep and groan,
Who hath a comrade sunk at sea?
Then quaff thee of my good old ale,
And it will raise him up for thee;
Thoul't think as little of him then
As when he moved with living men.
If thou hast hopes to move the world,
And every effort it doth fail,
Then to thy side call Jack and Jim,
And bid them drink with thee good ale;
So may the world, that would not hear,
Perish in hell with all your care.
One quart of good ale, and I
Feel then what life immortal is:
The brain is empty of all thought,
The heart is brimming o'er with bliss;
Time's first child, Life, doth live; but Death,
The second, hath not yet his breath.
Give me a quart of good old ale,
Am I a homeless man on earth?
Nay, I want not your roof and quilt,
I'll lie warm at the moon's cold hearth;
No grumbling ghost to grudge my bed,
His grave, ha! ha! holds up my head.
poem by William Henry Davies
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