Sonnet XXII: In Highest Way of Heav'n
In highest way of heav'n the Sun did ride,
Progressing then from fair twins' golden place:
Having no scarf of clouds before his face,
But shining forth of heat in his chief pride;
When some fair ladies by hard promise tied,
On horseback met him in his furious race,
Yet each prepar'd with fan's well-shading grace
From that foe's wounds their tender skins to hide.
Stella alone with face unarmed march'd.
Either to do like him which open shone,
Or careless of the wealth because her own:
Yet were the hid and meaner beauties parch'd,
Her daintiest bare went free; the cause was this,
The Sun, which others burn'd, did her but kiss.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Sonnet 106: Oh Absent Presence
Oh absent presence, Stella is not here;
False flattering Hope, that with so fair a face
Bare me in hand, that in this orphan place,
Stella, I say my Stella, should appear:
What sayest thou now? Where is that dainty cheer
Thou toldst mine eyes should help their famish'd case?
But thou art gone, now that self felt disgrace
Doth make me most to wish my comfort near.
But here I do store of fair ladies meet,
Who may with charm of conversation sweet
Make in my heavy mold new thought to grow:
Sure they prevail as much with me as he
That bade his friend, but then new maim'd, to be
Merry with him, and not think of his woe.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Sonnet 103: Oh Happy Thames
Oh happy Thames, that didst my Stella bear,
I saw thyself with many a smiling line
Upon thy cheerful face, Joy's livery wear,
While those fair planets on thy streams did shine.
The boat for joy could not to dance forbear,
While wanton winds with beauties so divine
Ravish'd, stay'd not, till in her golden hair
They did themselves (oh sweetest prison) twine.
And fain those Aeol's youth there would their stay
Have mde, but, forc'd by Nature still to fly,
First did with puffing kiss those locks display:
She so dishevel'd, blush'd; from window I
With sight thereof cried out; oh fair disgrace,
Let Honor self to thee grant highest place.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Stella And Flavia.
Stella and Flavia, ev'ry Hour,
Unnumber'd Hearts surprize:
In Stella's Soul lies all her Pow'r,
And Flavia's, in her Eyes.
More boundless Flavia's Conquests are,
And Stella's more confin'd:
All can discern a Face that's fair,
But few a lovely Mind.
Stella, like Britain's Monarch, reigns
O'er cultivated Lands;
Like Eastern Tyrants, Flavia deigns
To rule o'er barren Sands.
Then boast, fair Flavia, boast your Face,
Your Beauty's only Store:
Your Charms will ev'ry Day decrease,
Each Day gives Stella more.
poem by Mary Barber
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Sonnet 52: A Strife Is Grown
A strife is grown between Virtue and Love,
While each pretends that Stella must be his:
Her eyes, her lips, her all, saith Love, do this
Since they do wear his badge, most firmly prove.
But Virtue thus that title doth disprove:
That Stella (oh dear name) that Stella is
That virtuous soul, sure heir of heav'nly bliss,
Not this fair outside, which our hearts doth move;
And therefore, though her beauty and her grace
Be Love's indeed, in Stella's self he may
By no pretense claim any manner place.
Well, Love, since this demur our suit will stay,
Let Virtue have that Stella's self; yet thus
That Virtue but that body grant to us.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Ride My See-saw
Ride, ride my see-saw,
Take this place
On this trip
Just for me.
Ride, take a free ride,
Take my place
Have my seat
Its for free.
I worked like a slave for years,
Sweat so hard just to end my fears.
Not to end my life a poor man,
But by now, I know I should have run.
Run, run my last race,
Take my place
Have this number
Of mine.
Run, run like a fire,
Dont you run in
In the lanes
Run for time.
Left school with a first class pass,
Started work but as second class.
School taught one and one is two.
But right now, that answer just aint true.
Ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah ah
Ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah ah
My world is spinning around,
Everything is lost that I found.
People run, come ride with me,
Lets find another place thats free.
Ride, ride my see-saw,
Take this place
On this trip
Just for me.
Ride, take a free ride,
Take my place
Have my seat
Its for free.
Ride, my see-saw.
Ride, ride, ride, my see-saw.
Ride, my see-saw...
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hiding Place
Hail sov'reign love that first began,
The scheme to rescue fallen man;
Hail matchless, free, eternal grace,
That gave my soul a Hiding-Place.
Against the God that rules the sky,
I fought with hands uplifted high;
Despis'd the mentions of his grace,
Too proud to seek a Hiding-Place.
Enwrapt in thick Egyptian night,
And fond of darkness more than light,
Madly I ran the sinful race,
Secure without a Hiding-Place.
But thus the eternal counsel ran,
Almighty Love arrest that man;
I felt the arrows of distress,
And saw that I'd no Hiding-Place.
Indignant Justice stood in view,
To Sina's fiery mount I flew;
But Justice cry'd with frowning face,
This mountain is no Hiding-Place.
Ere long a Heav'nly voice I heard,
And Mercy's angel form appear'd,
She led me on with placid pace,
To Jesus as my Hiding-Place.
Should storms of sevenfold thunder roll,
And shake the globe from pole to pole,
No flaming bolt should daunt my face,
For Jesus is my Hiding-Place.
On him almighty vengeance fell,
That must have sunk the world to hell:
He bore it for the chosen race,
And thus became their Hiding-Place.
A few more rolling suns at most,
Shall land us on fair Canaan's coast,
Where we shall sing the song of grace,
And see our glorious Hiding-Place.
poem by Major Henry Livingston Jr.
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It Ain't Fair That It Ain't Right
Writers B. Eggers, J. Eggers
Copyright 1970
It ain't fair for you to leave me cold and cryin' in the night
It ain't fair to take your body from my arms and out of sight
It ain't fair you've gone and left me where you kissed me I still burn
Are you leaving for my loving this awful hurt and then return
It ain't fair for you to leave me alone to face the morning light
It ain't fair you took my body and then to say that it ain't right
It ain't fair you've made me your woman a no longer a good girl in your eyes
How come before you said you'd love me it ain't fair that it ain't right
It just ain't fair that it ain't right
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am ashamed—I hide
473
I am ashamed—I hide—
What right have I—to be a Bride—
So late a Dowerless Girl—
Nowhere to hide my dazzled Face—
No one to teach me that new Grace—
Nor introduce—my Soul—
Me to adorn—How—tell—
Trinket—to make Me beautiful—
Fabrics of Cashmere—
Never a Gown of Dun—more—
Raiment instead—of Pompadour—
For Me—My soul—to wear—
Fingers—to frame my Round Hair
Oval—as Feudal Ladies wore—
Far Fashions—Fair—
Skill to hold my Brow like an Earl—
Plead—like a Whippoorwill—
Prove—like a Pearl—
Then, for Character—
Fashion My Spirit quaint—white—
Quick—like a Liquor—
Gay—like Light—
Bring Me my best Pride—
No more ashamed—
No more to hide—
Meek—let it be—too proud—for Pride—
Baptized—this Day—a Bride—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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I have learnt to love beyond the beauty...
I have learnt to love beyond the beauty...
Face to face...
My eyes wonder...
Art shone in magnificence of range...
Merry face, fair and bright...
Solemn, serene, earnest eyes...
Long and crafted nose leaning down like a tower on the face
Yet some with charm and royal grace...
Ponder I faces that change...
Could restless heart connect to those beauties, to those charms?
Captivating to eyes so, leaves a fade impression on my heart...
My senses and sensibilities shall fall to praise to thy craft fine...
Finished with perfection…
Your brush that sways on the divinity of souls
Brushed off some divine dust at your last stroke...
poem by Lama Abbas
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Rime 34
Love, do you know why your fair mother gave you
These arrows to your hands, and bound your eyes?
That you may shoot the first wound and break
The heart of this or any faithful lover;
And tied the blindfold, so you cannot see
The dreadful cruelty you have inflicted
So that it will not let you suffer pity,
Or even moderate your impious furor.
For, if you saw one of my dreadful wounds,
You would not be a god, but a wild beast,
Or it might make you tender, or less fierce
I would not wish you to come face to face
With the rays of my sun; my wound would seem,
Next to his greatness, small and even light.
poem by Gaspara Stampa
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Forest Moods
There is singing of birds in the deep wet woods,
In the heart of the listening solitudes,
Pewees, and thrushes, and sparrows, not few,
And all the notes of their throats are true.
The thrush from the innermost ash takes on
A tender dream of the treasured and gone;
But the sparrow singeth with pride and cheer
Of the might and light of the present and here.
There is shining of flowers in the deep wet woods,
In the heart of the sensitive solitudes,
The roseate bell and the lily are there,
And every leaf of their sheaf is fair.
Careless and bold, without dream of woe,
The trilliums scatter their flags of snow;
But the pale wood-daffodil covers her face,
Agloom with the doom of a sorrowful race.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Sonnet 9: Queen Virtue's Court
Queen Virtue's court, which some call Stella's face,
Prepar'd by Nature's choicest furniture,
Hath his front built of alabaster pure;
Gold in the covering of that stately place.
The door by which sometimes comes forth her Grace
Red porphir is, which lock of pearl makes sure,
Whose porches rich (which name of cheeks endure)
Marble mix'd red and white do interlace.
The windows now through which this heav'nly guest
Looks o'er the world, and can find nothing such,
Which dare claim from those lights the name of best,
Of touch they are that without touch doth touch,
Which Cupid's self from Beauty's mine did draw:
Of touch they are, and poor I am their straw.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Sonnet IX: Queen Virtue's Court
Queen Virtue's court, which some call Stella's face,
Prepar'd by Nature's choicest furniture,
Hath his front built of alabaster pure;
Gold in the covering of that stately place.
The door by which sometimes comes forth her Grace
Red porphir is, which lock of pearl makes sure,
Whose porches rich (which name of cheeks endure)
Marble mix'd red and white do interlace.
The windows now through which this heav'nly guest
Looks o'er the world, and can find nothing such,
Which dare claim from those lights the name of best,
Of touch they are that without touch doth touch,
Which Cupid's self from Beauty's mine did draw:
Of touch they are, and poor I am their straw.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Strategian
He was a military man
who waxed the ends of his moustache
A man must look the best he can.
He thought it added real panache.
He always kept his hair quite short,
his lantern jaw shaved to the bone.
But his moustache or so he thought
was at its best when left alone.
It was his greatest pride and joy
It added something to his face.
He thought the ladies might enjoy.
With every whisker kept in place.
With moustache wax freshly applied
and just a hint of fine cologne.
He was completely satisfied
with what he tried and what he’d done.
The ladies did not seem to care.
About his well dressed upper lip
It seemed they would prefer it bare
for all his clever showman ship
Clean shaven men were all the rage.
The fair sex had the final say
So he shaved off his appendage.
The ladies always get their way.
A soldier knows when to retreat
and make a change to his campaign.
More preferable than face defeat.
it will always grow again.
When fashions change as fashions do.
He is a military man
But he can change his point of view
as quickly as the ladies can.
.07/05/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Through the Metidja to Abd-El-Kadr
I
As I ride, as I ride,
With a full heart for my guide,
So its tide rocks my side,
As I ride, as I ride,
That, as I were double-eyed,
He, in whom our Tribes confide,
Is descried, ways untried
As I ride, as I ride.
II.
As I ride, as I ride
To our Chief and his Allied,
Who dares chide my heart's pride
As I ride, as I ride?
Or are witnesses denied—
Through the desert waste and wide
Do I glide unespied
As I ride, as I ride?
III.
As I ride, as I ride,
When an inner voice has cried,
The sands slide, nor abide
(As I ride, as I ride)
O'er each visioned homicide
That came vaunting (has he lied?)
To reside—where he died,
As I ride, as I ride.
IV.
As I ride, as I ride,
Ne'er has spur my swift horse plied,
Yet his hide, streaked and pied,
As I ride, as I ride,
Shows where sweat has sprung and dried,
—Zebra-footed, ostrich-thighed—
How has vied stride with stride
As I ride, as I ride!
V.
As I ride, as I ride,
Could I loose what Fate has tied,
Ere I pried, she should hide
(As I ride, as I ride)
All that's meant me—satisfied
When the Prophet and the Bride
Stop veins I'd have subside
As I ride, as I ride!
poem by Robert Browning from Cavalier Tunes (1842)
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Sonnet 82: Nymph Of The Garden
Nymph of the garden where all beauties be,
Beauties which do in excellency pass
His who till death look'd in a wat'ry glass,
Or hers, whom naked the Trojan boy did see;
Sweet garden nymph, which keeps the cherry tree
Whose fruit doth far th'Hesperian taste surpass;
Most sweet-fair, most fair-sweet, do not alas,
From coming near those cherries banish me:
For though full of desire, empty of wit,
Admitted late by your best-graced Grace,
I caught at one of them a hungry bit,
Pardon that fault. Once more grant me the place
And I do swear e'en by the same delight,
I will but kiss, I never more will bite.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Sonnet 8: Love, Born In Greece
Love, born in Greece, of late fled from his native place,
Forc'd by a tedious proof, that Turkish harden'd heart
Is no fit mark to pierce with his fine pointed dart,
And pleas'd with our soft peace, stayed here his flying race.
But finding these north climes do coldly him embrace,
Not used to frozen clips, he strave to find some part
Where with most ease and warmth he might employ his art:
At length he perch'd himself in Stella's joyful face,
Whose fair skin, beamy eyes, like morning sun on snow,
Deceiv'd the quaking boy, who thought from so pure light
Effects of lively heat must needs in nature grow.
But she most fair, most cold, made him thence take his flight
To my close heart, where while some firebrands he did lay,
He burnt un'wares his wings, and cannot fly away.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Sonnet VIII: Love, Born In Greece
Love, born in Greece, of late fled from his native place,
Forc'd by a tedious proof, that Turkish harden'd heart
Is no fit mark to pierce with his fine pointed dart,
And pleas'd with our soft peace, stayed here his flying race.
But finding these north climes do coldly him embrace,
Not used to frozen clips, he strave to find some part
Where with most ease and warmth he might employ his art:
At length he perch'd himself in Stella's joyful face,
Whose fair skin, beamy eyes, like morning sun on snow,
Deceiv'd the quaking boy, who thought from so pure light
Effects of lively heat must needs in nature grow.
But she most fair, most cold, made him thence take his flight
To my close heart, where while some firebrands he did lay,
He burnt un'wares his wings, and cannot fly away.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Stella In Mourning
When lately Stella's form display'd
The beauties of the gay brocade,
The nymphs, who found their power decline,
Proclaim'd her not so fair as fine.
'Fate! snatch away the bright disguise,
And let the goddess trust her eyes.'
Thus blindly pray'd the fretful pair,
And Fate malicious heard the prayer;
But brighten'd by the sable dress,
As virtue rises in distress,
Since Stella still extends her reign,
Ah! how shall envy soothe her pain?
'Th' adoring youth and envious fair,
Henceforth shall form one common prayer
And love and hate alike implore
The skies - 'That Stella mourn no more.'
poem by Samuel Johnson
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The Rainbow Of Promise
In the face of the sun are great thunderbolts hurled,
And the storm-clouds have shut out its light;
But a Rainbow of Promise now shines on the world,
And the universe thrills at the sight.
Tis the flag of our Union, the red, white, and blue,
Our Star-spangled Banner-our pride;
Fair symbol of all that is noble and true,
Flung out over continents wide.
Flung out in its glory o'er land and o'er sea,
With a message from God in each star;
And a glorious promise of peace yet to be
In the fluttering folds of each bar.
A Rainbow of Promise, bright emblem of hope,
Fair flag of each cause that is just;
No longer in doubt or in darkness we grope-
In the Star-spangled Banner we trust.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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