For A' That And A' That
Tho' right be aft put down by strength,
As mony a day we saw that,
The true and leilfu' cause at length
Shall bear the grie for a' that.
For a' that an a' that,
Guns, guillotines, and a' that,
The Fleur-de-lis, that lost her right,
Is queen again for a' that!
We'll twine her in a friendly knot
With England's rose and a' that,
The Shamrock shall not be forgot,
For Wellington made bra' that.
The Thistle, tho' her leaf be rude,
Yet faith we'll no misca' that,
She sheltered in her solitude
The Fleur-de-lis, for a' that!
The Austrian Vine, the Prussian pine.
(For Blucher's sake, hurra that,)
The Spanish olive too shall join,
And bloom in peace for a' that.
Stout Russia's hemp, so surely twin'd
Around our wreath we'll draw that,
And he that would the cord unbind,
Shall have it for his gra-vat!
Or if to chock sae puir a sot,
Your pity scorn to thraw that,
The Devil's Elbo' be his lot,
Where he may sit and claw that.
In spite of slight, in spite of might
In spite of brags and a' that,
The lads that battled for the right,
Have won the day, and a' that!
There's ae bit spot I had forgot,
They ca'd America that!
A coward plot her rats had got
Their father's flag to gnaw that;
Now see it fly top-gallant high,
Atlantic winds shall blaw that,
And Yankee loun, beware your croun,
There's kames in hand to claw that!
For on the land, or on the sea,
Where'er the breezes blaw that,
The British flag shall bear the grie,
And win the day for a' that!
poem by Sir Walter Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Wish
What would it be like if,
We forgot all our woes,
What would it be like if,
We still had our pure souls,
There's little chance we'll know,
But together there's hope,
So take my shaking hand,
And we'll make memories,
We will make time stand still,
We will have our fears killed,
I won't spite the purest,
You won't spite the fairest,
We will claim what we will,
We will be soon fulfilled,
We won't spite the dearest,
Because it will be us,
You won't spite the finest,
I won't spite the richest,
We won't spite the bravest,
Because it will be us,
As long as we don't wake,
And break our cherished spell,
As long as we can make,
Seeds of heartache dispel.
poem by Christian Lacdael
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Sestina: Terminataur
Enveloped by the glow of bedside light,
a small child listens spellbound to a plot.
A parent tells a story quite absurd
of cyborgs, birds and dinosaurs, most mean.
A science fiction tale of keen-edged claw
and culminating fast with time machine.
‘A fearsome shrewd reptilian machine
was lurking ‘mid striated cycad light.
His iridescent scaly skin and claw
advising ‘gainst the trespass of his plot.
A grey bird hovered close; what could it mean?
and conversation flowed; now that's absurd'!
‘Tyrannosaurus said, 'You're quite absurd',
'a cyborg bird with so-called time machine',
'and plans which sound both devilish and mean',
'involving death by catastrophic light'.
'You wish to beg my pardon for the plot',
'and ask respectfully to shake my claw'? ! ? ! ? ! '
‘The cyborg bird said, 'Cousin, take my claw',
'I'm your descendent, though it sounds absurd'.
'Our fourth millennium A.D. course is plot',
'whereby we triumph over man machine'.
'I'm here to guide the bird-made meteor light',
'so we can wing ascent; see what I mean'? '
‘Just then a ratty mammal, snide and mean,
who hid within the cycad's curving claw,
quick swiped the heedless bird in dusky light
and thereby foiled cretaceous scheme absurd.
The meteor missed and dinosaur machine
retained its topmost spot, in spite of plot'.
The father closes zany fiction plot
and though his sharp-toothed grin looks wily mean,
he is a loving dinosaur machine.
The sleepy dino-child lets go his claw
and slips into a dreaming world absurd.
He kisses scaly snout and dims the light.
The moral here is both absurd and light.
I mean by this: Beware the bird machine
which may still plot to claim the upper claw.
poem by Diane Hine
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The Battle Of Killie-Crankie
Clavers and his Highlandmen
Came down upo' the raw, man,
Who being stout, gave mony a clout;
The lads began to claw then.
With sword and terge into their hand,
Wi which they were nae slaw, man,
Wi mony a fearful heavy sigh,
The lads began to claw then.
O'er bush, o'er bank, o'er ditch, o'er stark,
She flang amang them a', man;
The butter-box got many knocks,
Their riggings paid for a' then.
They got their paiks, wi sudden straiks,
Which to their grief they saw, man:
Wi clinkum, clankum o'er their crowns,
The lads began to fa' then.
Hur skipt about, hur leapt about,
And flang amang them a', man;
The English blades got broken beads,
Their crowns were cleav'd in twa then.
The durk and door made their last hour,
And prov'd their final fa', man;
They thought the devil had been there,
That play'd them sic a paw then.
The Solemn League and Covenant
Came whigging up the hills, man;
Thought Highland trews durst not refuse
For to subscribe their bills then.
In Willie's name, they thought nag ane
Durst stop their course at a', man,
But hur-nane-sell, wi mony a knock,
Cry'd, 'Furich--Whigs awa',' man.
Sir Evan Du, and his men true,
Came linking up the brink, man;
The Hogan Dutch they feared such,
They bred a horrid stink then.
The true Maclean and his fierce men
Came in amang them a', man;
Nane durst withstand his heavy hand.
All fled and ran awa' then.
Oh' on a ri, Oh' on a ri,
Why should she lose King Shames, man?
Oh' rig in di, Oh' rig in di,
She shall break a' her banes then;
With furichinish, an' stay a while,
And speak a word or twa, man,
She's gi' a straike, out o'er the neck,
Before ye win awa' then.
Oh fy for shame, ye're three for ane,
Hur-nane-sell's won the day, man;
King Shames' red-coats should be hung up,
Because they ran awa' then.
Had bent their brows, like Highland trows,
And made as lang a stay, man,
They'd sav'd their king, that sacred thing,
And Willie'd ran awa' then.
poem by Andrew Lang
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The Banner of Union
Bring the Harp of the West, and the Pipes of the North,
When our Trumpet note calls to the field;
Let the men of old Scotia and Erin come forth,
And our foemen shall see who must yield.
Side by side in the battle, like granite we'll stand,
With a will and a might none shall sever;
For Glory or Death, we will twine in one wreath
Rose, Shamrock, and Thistle for ever.
Our Banner of Union shall float in the wind
Over hearts that have never yet quailed;
The sword shall be drawn and the banner be borne,
By hands that have never yet failed.
Sons of heather! your fame in the fight
Is as old as your glens and your valleys,
Men of Hibernia! let Right ask for Might;
And where is the spirit but rallies.
Side by side in the battle, like granite we'll stand,
With a will and a might none shall sever;
For Glory or Death, we will twine in one wreath
Rose, Shamrock, and Thistle for ever.
poem by Eliza Cook
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A Health To The Queen
While the thistle bears
Spears,
And the shamrock is green,
And the English rose
Blows,
A health to the Queen!
A health to the Queen, a health to the Queen!
Fill high, boys, drain dry, boys,
A health to the Queen!
The thistle bears spears round its blossom,
Round its blossom the shamrock is green,
The rose grows and glows round the rose in its bosom,
We stand sword in hand round the Queen!
Our glory is green round the Queen!
We close round the rose, round the Queen!
The Queen, boys, the Queen! a health to the Queen!
Fill high, boys, drain dry, boys,
A health to the Queen!
Last post I'd a note from that old aunt of mine,
'T was meant for a hook, but she called it a line;
She says, I don't know why we're going to fight,
She's sure I don't know-and I'm sure she's quite right;
She swears I haven't looked at one sole protocol;
Tantara! tantara! I haven't, 'pon my soul!
Soho, blow trumpeter,
Trumpeter, trumpeter!
Soho, blow trumpeter, onward's the cry!
Fall, tyrants, fall-the devil care why!
A health to the Queen; a health to the Queen!
Fill high, boys, drain dry, boys,
A health to the Queen!
My granny came down-'pour vous voir, mon barbare,'
She brought in her pocket a map-du Tartare-
Drawn up, so she vowed, 'par un homme ah! si bon!'
With a plan for campaigning old Hal, en haut ton.
With here you may trick him, and here you may prick him,
And here-if you do it en roi-you may lick him,
But there he is sacred, and yonder-Oh, la!
He's as dear a sweet soul as your late grandpapa!
Soho, blow trumpeter,
Trumpeter, trumpeter!
Blow the charge, trumpeter, blare, boy, blare!
Fall, tyrants, fall-the devil care where!
A health to the Queen, a health to the Queen!
Fill high, boys, drain dry, boys,
A health to the Queen!
My cousin, the Yankee, last night did his best
To prove 'the Czar-bless you's-no worse than the rest.'
We wheeled the decanters out on to the lawn,
And he argued-and spat-in a circle till dawn.
Quoth I, 'If the game's half as thick as you say,
The more need for hounds, lad! Hunt's up! Harkaway!'
Soho, blow trumpeter!
Trumpeter, trumpeter!
Tally-ho, trumpeter, over the ditch-
Over the ditch, boys, the broad ditch at Dover!
Hands slack, boys, heels back, boys,
Yohoicks! we're well over!
Soho, blow, trumpeter! blow us to cover!
Blow, boy, blow,
Berlin, or Moscow,
Schoenbrun, or Rome,
So Reynard's at home,
The devil care which!
Hark, Evans! hark, Campbell! hark, Cathcart!-Halloo!
Heydey, harkaway! good men and true!
Harkaway to the brook,
You won't land in clover!
Leap and look!
High and dry!
Tantivy, full cry!
Full cry up the hill!
Hurrah, and it's over!
A burst and a kill.
While the thistle bears
Spears,
And the shamrock is green,
And the English rose
Blows,
A health to the Queen!
A health to the Queen, a health to the Queen!
Fill high, boys, drain dry, boys,
A health to the Queen!
The Queen, boys, the Queen! the Queen, boys, the Queen!
Full cry, high and dry, boys,
A health to the Queen!
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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No Power On Earth
The British Empire has a flag that flies throughout the World
And no power on earth can pull it down
It stands for peace and liberty where e’er our flag’s unfurled
But no power on earth can pull it down
We still can sing our good old song “Britannia Rules the Waves’
It’s just as true today that Britons never shall be slaves
The Union Jack still flies on high in spite of finnish knaves
‘Cos no power on earth can pull it down.
No power on earth can pull it down
That’s no foolish idle boast or brag
England, Ireland and gallant little Wales
Are united round our dear old flag
Scotland sends their Highlanders and proud of them we are
As soldiers they have gained world famed renown
The Scots are finely built - he’s the man that wears the kilt
And no power on earth can pull it down.
The man is sure to rise in life that sits down on a tack
But no power on earth can pull him down
The undervest I’m wearing is half way up me back
And no power on earth can pull it down
To all these rabid profiteers a lesson we must teach
The price of food is out of every humble person’s reach
Our chickens they are laying eggs at four pence halfpenny each
And - er - no power on earth can make you buy them.
No power on earth can pull it down
Winston Chruchill sold us all a pup
He tries with might and main, but when it starts to rain
He hasn’t got the power to push it up
We still have women on the land that do the work of men
They don’t dress like the girls do in the town
Every country Mary Ann is wearing trousers like a man
And -the second house begins at nine o’ clock.
poem by Billy Bennett
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Despite
The terrible things that the Governor
Of Kansas says alarm me;
And yet somehow we won the war
In spite of the Regular Army.
The things they say of the old N.G.
Are bitter and cruel and hard;
And yet we walloped the enemy
In spite of the National Guard.
Too late, too late, was our work begun;
Too late were our forces sent;
And yet we smeared the horrible Hun
In spite of the President.
"What a frightful flivver this Baker is!"
Cried many a senator;
And yet we handed the Kaiser his
In spite of the Sec. of War.
A sadly incompetent, sinful crew
Is that of the recent fight;
And yet we put it across, we do,
In spite of a lot of spite.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Canadian born
We first saw light in Canada, the land beloved of God;
We are the pulse of Canada, its marrow and its blood:
And we, the men of Canada, can face the world and brag
That we were born in Canada beneath the British flag.
Few of us have the blood of kings, few are of courtly birth,
But few are vagabonds or rogues of doubtful name and worth;
And all have one credential that entitles us to brag--
That we were born in Canada beneath the British flag.
We've yet to make our money, we've yet to make our fame,
But we have gold and glory in our clean colonial name;
And every man's a millionaire if only he can brag
That he was born in Canada beneath the British flag.
No title and no coronet is half so proudly worn
As that which we inherited as men Canadian born.
We count no man so noble as the one who makes the brag
That he was born in Canada beneath the British flag.
The Dutch may have their Holland, the Spaniard have his Spain,
The Yankee to the south of us must south of us remain;
For not a man dare lift a hand against the men who brag
That they were born in Canada beneath the British flag.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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In Spite Of All The Danger
In spite of all the danger,
In spite of all that may be
I'll do anything for you,
Anything you want me to,
If you'll be true to me.
In spite of all the heartache,
That you may cause me,
I'll do anything for you,
Anything you want me to,
If you'll be true to me.
I'll look after you
Like I've never done before.
I'll keep all the others
From knocking at your door.
In spite of all the danger,
In spite of all that may be,
I'll do anything for you,
Anything you want me to,
If you'll be true to me.
In spite of all the heartache
That you may cause me,
I'll do anything for you,
Anything you want me to,
If you'll be true to me.
I'll do anything for you,
Anything you want me to,
If you'll be true to me
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Of The Rose Bush
This homely bush doth to mine eyes expose
A very fair, yea, comely ruddy rose.
This rose doth also bow its head to me,
Saying, Come, pluck me, I thy rose will be;
Yet offer I to gather rose or bud,
Ten to one but the bush will have my blood.
This looks like a trapan,[34] or a decoy,
To offer, and yet snap, who would enjoy;
Yea, the more eager on't, the more in danger,
Be he the master of it, or a stranger.
Bush, why dost bear a rose if none must have it.
Who dost expose it, yet claw those that crave it?
Art become freakish? dost the wanton play,
Or doth thy testy humour tend its way?
Comparison.
This rose God's Son is, with his ruddy looks.
But what's the bush, whose pricks, like tenter-hooks,
Do scratch and claw the finest lady's hands,
Or rend her clothes, if she too near it stands?
This bush an emblem is of Adam's race,
Of which Christ came, when he his Father's grace
Commended to us in his crimson blood,
While he in sinners' stead and nature stood.
Thus Adam's race did bear this dainty rose,
And doth the same to Adam's race expose;
But those of Adam's race which at it catch,
Adam's race will them prick, and claw, and scratch.
poem by John Bunyan
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Harry Wilmans
I was just turned twenty-one,
And Henry Phipps, the Sunday-school superintendent,
Made a speech in Bindle’s Opera House.
“The honor of the flag must be upheld,” he said,
“Whether it be assailed by a barbarous tribe of Tagalogs
Or the greatest power in Europe.”
And we cheered and cheered the speech and the flag he waved
As he spoke.
And I went to the war in spite of my father,
And followed the flag till I saw it raised
By our camp in a rice field near Manila,
And all of us cheered and cheered it.
But there were flies and poisonous things;
And there was the deadly water,
And the cruel heat,
And the sickening, putrid food;
And the smell of the trench just back of the tents
Where the soldiers went to empty themselves;
And there were the whores who followed us, full of syphilis;
And beastly acts between ourselves or alone,
With bullying, hatred, degradation among us,
And days of loathing and nights of fear
To the hour of the charge through the steaming swamp,
Following the flag,
Till I fell with a scream, shot through the guts.
Now there’s a flag over me in Spoon River!
A flag! A flag!
poem by Edgar Lee Masters from Spoon River Anthology
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Alone
I am alone, in spite of love,
In spite of all I take and give --
In spite of all your tenderness,
Sometimes I am not glad to live.
I am alone, as though I stood
On the highest peak of the tired gray world,
About me only swirling snow,
Above me, endless space unfurled;
With earth hidden and heaven hidden,
And only my own spirit's pride
To keep me from the peace of those
Who are not lonely, having died.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Canadian Rivers and Lake
We have here a sight as fair
As bonnie Doon or banks of Ayr.
Like modest worth, meandering slow,
The quiet waters gently flow.
Rose, Thistle, Shamrock, all combine
Around the Maple Leaf to twine-
Whose outstretched arms, so gigantic,
Clasps Pacific and Atlantic.
Embracing lakes like burnished gold,
With joy a Shakespeare might behold,
For either poet Barns or Moore *
Such scenery they would adore.
poem by James McIntyre
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Fleur D'automne
Fleur jaune, fleur triste, fleur pâle;
Le soleil t'a brûlée et la pluie t'a échaudée;
Fleur mûre, fleur maturée, fleur immaculée;
Malgré tout, tu as gardé ta beauté phénoménale.
Les feuilles à moitié jaunes et à moitié vertes
Essaient de porter tes belles couleurs.
La nature et la faune sont inconsolables et en pleurs,
Les écureuils et les rossignols sont en état d'alerte.
Fleur d'une de la plus sombre et romantique saison,
Laisse-moi admirer ta beauté exceptionnelle
Et savourer encore ta douce et délicieuse salive.
Fleur, je viendrai, ce soir, m'étendre sur ton gazon.
Viens admirer les étoiles, les étincelles,
Les branches et les tiges abandonnées dans la rive.
poem by Hebert Logerie
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Welcome Vicissitude
In spite of big bribes given to me,
I understand this is just temporary.
Mindfulness! it brightens my brain.
Dare to welcome any gain.
In spite of being destroyed in soil,
I can stand with stars in my eyes.
Mindfulness! it's my secret suit.
Dare to welcome any lose.
In spite of pukka popularity,
I understand this won't be eternally.
Mindfulness! it directs not to be vain.
Dare to welcome any fame.
In spite of lowest position,
I can stand with brave actions.
Mindfulness! it shows how to maintain.
Dare to welcome any defame.
In spite of speaking in honor of me,
I understand I shouldn't respond conceitedly.
Mindfulness! it's the best way to face.
Dare to welcome any praise.
In spite of gossip to me,
I can stand without depravity.
Mindfulness! it's trump card for my aim.
Dare to welcome any blame.
In spite of typical tycoon,
I understand all will dissolve soon.
Mindfulness! it's my fortune-calculator.
Dare to welcome any pleasure.
In spite of abysmal poverty,
I can stand with honesty.
Mindfulness! it guides me to tame.
Dare to welcome any pain.
poem by Aung Si Myanmar
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The Truth About The Truth
What for you is true
or isn't
usually depends on how many
choose to believe
your version of it:
Hence television. Hence Hollywood.
Human truth, alas, is local;
though most agree
gold will always be
a bully basis for a currency:
Truth being wearisomely,
equatible with usage,
practicality,
who has bigger guns,
and what is ego-tonic to believe.
'This is true, because it's always been.'
'God believes it, too.
Daddy served-why not me? '
In spite of any war, though,
In spite of banks and oil magnates,
and big-money types
who bamboozle you with idealism,
and stand ready to reap the profits,
without suffering so much as a scratch,
and wonder aloud
'You're not chicken, are you?
What kind of a man are you? '
in spite of people who ardently believe the drivel
and preach it, terrified of extinction,
all this has nothing to do with truth,
which is simply mathematical:
two plus two, you can be sure, thank God,
in this universe, at least,
will always equal four.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Suspecting is inborn
In spite of intimacy,
In spite of privacy,
And in spite of secrecy,
No woman of repute
Budged an inch to my wish.
Yet, I am beset with doubts
When my woman is closeted
With men acquaintances.
23.05.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Tying The Knots Of Peace
With knot one,
My spell's begun
May it's power soar
It's for everyone
With knot two
Pure as mountain dew
My motive is
That my wish come true
With knot three
Find Harmony
From Ocean floor
To the tallest tree
By knot four
Open the door
End suffering
And banish war
With knot five
For peace, we'll strive
In tying this cord
My goal comes alive
With knot six
To wings adhere
My wish for peace
An end for fear
With seven knots
Adorn my cord
Be there peace at home
And peace abroad
In tying knot eight
Let peace be our fate
And with knot nine
Peace and love intertwine
poem by Jessica Millsaps
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Faith and Trust
With a wife not worth your faith
And children not fit your trust,
You are sick in spite of health
And poor in spite of wealth.
(26.01.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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What Have They Done To You
Written by james young and tommy shaw
Lead vocals by james young and tommy shaw
There must be something out there,
There must be something real
Well this mysterys a nightmare
And I dont know what to feel
Well I heard you had a hell of a time there
I guess it chilled you down to the bone
If theres one thing I can tell you
Itll never leave you less than alone
In spite of everything you told me
In spite of everything Ive heard
Theres nothing here that I call holy
Not a solitary word
Could you tell me what its like on the outside
Were you really lost and out of control
Were you reaching for your freedom
When the gatekeeper called for the toll
Oh-oh, what have they done to you
Where, where have you gone
Oh-oh, I wanna run to you
In spite of what youre saying
I still cant let you go
Well they say you witnessed some kind of lefe there
Was it something real or nothing at all
Or is your imagination all thats there to catch you
If you start to fall
Oh-oh, what have they done to you
Where, where have you gone
Oh-oh I wanna run to you
In spite of what youre saying
I still cant let you go
Oh-oh, what have they done to you
Where, where have you gone
Oh-oh I wanna run to you
In spite of what youre saying
I still cant let you go
What have they done to you
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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