The Beech Tree's Petition
O leave this barren spot to me!
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!
Though bush or floweret never grow
My dark unwarming shade below;
Nor summer bud perfume the dew
Of rosy blush, or yellow hue;
Nor fruits of autumn, blossom-born,
My green and glossy leaves adorn;
Nor murmuring tribes from me derive
Th' ambrosial amber of the hive;
Yet leave this barren spot to me:
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!
Thrice twenty summers I have seen
The sky grow bright, the forest green;
And many a wintry wind have stood
In bloomless, fruitless solitude,
Since childhood in my pleasant bower
First spent its sweet and sportive hour;
Since youthful lovers in my shade
Their vows of truth and rapture made,
And on my trunk's surviving frame
Carved many a long-forgotten name.
Oh! by the sighs of gentle sound,
First breathed upon this sacred ground;
By all that Love has whispered here,
Or Beauty heard with ravished ear;
As Love's own altar honor me:
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!
poem by Thomas Campbell
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Related quotes
Spare Me A Little Of Your Love
Written by christine mcvie.
Why not lie here in my arms
And listen to the night
You must know you have certain charm
And I feel the time is right
So spare me a little (just a little bit)
Spare me a little (just a little bit)
Spare me a little of your love (of your love)
Spare me a little (just a little bit)
Spare me a little (just a little bit)
Spare me a little of your love (of your love)
Now I know that I feel much more
Oh in every single way
And its not the same as before
It gets stronger everyday
So spare me a little (just a little bit)
Spare me a little (just a little bit)
Spare me a little of your love (of your love)
Spare me a little (just a little bit)
Spare me a little (just a little bit)
Spare me a little of your love (of your love)
Now I know how the sun must feel
Every time it shines
And now I know this is real
And I want you to be mine
So spare me a little (just a little bit)
Spare me a little (just a little bit)
Spare me a little of your love (of your love)
Spare me a little (just a little bit)
Spare me a little (just a little bit)
Spare me a little of your love (of your love)
Just a little bit
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spare Me A Little Of Your Love
Why not lie here
In-a my arms
And just listen to the night.
You must know that you have
Certain charms,
And I feel,
And I feel the time is right.
Spare me a little,
Spare me a little,
Spare me a little of your love.
Spare me a little,
Spare me a little,
Spare me a little of your love.
And I know that i
Feel much more
In-a
Every single way,
[ended / and its ? ] not the same
As before, it gets
Stronger [stronger],
Stronger every day.
Spare me a little,
Spare me a little,
Spare me a little of your love.
Spare me a little,
Spare me a little,
Spare me a little of your love.
Now I know how the
Sun must feel
Every time it shines,
And I know that
This is real and i
Want you to be mine.
So, spare me a little,
Spare me a little,
Spare me a little of your love.
Spare me a little,
Spare me a little,
Spare me a little of your love.
Come on, spare me a little,
Spare me a little,
Spare me a little of your love.
One more time,
Spare me a little,
Spare me a little,
Spare me a little of your love.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Foresight
That is work of waste and ruin--
Do as Charles and I are doing!
Strawberry-blossoms, one and all,
We must spare them--here are many:
Look at it--the flower is small,
Small and low, though fair as any:
Do not touch it! summers two
I am older, Anne, than you.
Pull the primrose, sister Anne!
Pull as many as you can.
--Here are daisies, take your fill;
Pansies, and the cuckoo-flower:
Of the lofty daffodil
Make your bed, or make your bower;
Fill your lap, and fill your bosom;
Only spare the strawberry-blossom!
Primroses, the Spring may love them--
Summer knows but little of them:
Violets, a barren kind,
Withered on the ground must lie;
Daisies leave no fruit behind
When the pretty flowerets die;
Pluck them, and another year
As many will be blowing here.
God has given a kindlier power
To the favoured strawberry-flower.
Hither soon as spring is fled
You and Charles and I will walk;
Lurking berries, ripe and red,
Then will hang on every stalk,
Each within its leafy bower;
And for that promise spare the flower!
poem by William Wordsworth
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The Barren Fig-Tree
The church a garden is
In which believers stand,
Like ornamental trees
Planted by God's own hand:
His Spirit waters all their roots,
And every branch abounds with fruits.
But other trees there are,
In this enclosure grow;
Which, though they promise fair,
Have only leaves to show:
No fruits of grace are on them found,
They stand but cumb'rers of the ground.
The under gard'ner grieves,
In vain his strength he spends,
For heaps of useless leaves,
Afford him small amends:
He hears the Lord his will make known,
To cut the barren fig-trees down.
How difficult his post,
What pangs his bowels move,
To find his wishes crossed,
His labors useless prove!
His last relief is earnest prayer,
Lord, spare them yet another year.
Spare them, and let me try
What farther means may do;
I'll fresh manure apply,
My digging I'll renew
Who knows but yet they fruit may yield!
If not--'tis just, they must be felled.
If under means of grace,
No gracious fruits appear;
It is a dreadful case,
Though God may long forbear:
At length he'll strike the threatened blow,
And lay the barren fig-tree low.
poem by John Newton
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The Beggars Lament
Spare some change Mr
You know Im down and out
Spare some change
You know I need it
Spare some change Mr
Im down on my luck
Spare some change
Well F**k you ya auld C**t
Spare some change Mrs
Spare me your change
I promise I, ll get steaming drunk
D ya think its my fault
Im down and out
D ya think its his fault
He chats up queers
D ya think its his fault
He drinks all those beers
If you think its our fault
Just remember this shout
F**k you ya auld C**t Im down but not out
poem by Kevin Campbell
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Nor Look Behind
Remember Lot's wife
How like a woman in a barren field
No stronger than a flower
Not born in shame
Like the deaf adder
Adding fuel to the flame
Of virtue
Of weak minds
Of blame
In naked beauty more
The most when unadorned
Spare not nor look behind
Nor fear
Nor spare
The scorned.
poem by Harry Crosby
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Love Will Wane
When your love begins to wane,
Spare me from the cruel pain
Of all speech that tells me so -
Spare me words, for I shall know,
By the half-averted eyes,
By the breast that no more sighs
By the rapture I shall miss
From your strangely-altered kiss;
By the arms that still enfold
But have lost their clinging hold,
And, too willing, let me go,
I shall know, love, I shall know.
Bitter will the knowledge be,
Bitterer than death to me.
Yet, 'twill come to me some day,
For it is sad world's way.
Make no vows - vows cannot bind
Changing hearts of wayward mind.
Men grow weary of a bliss
Passionate and fond as this.
Love will wane. But I shall know,
If you do not tell me so.
Know it, tho' you smile and say,
That you love me more each day.
Know it by the inner sight
That forever sees aright.
Words could not but increase my woe,
And without them, I shall know.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Lovey-Dovey
Must we face such fog and nonsense?
I'm not sorry you're in love, but spare me,
Spare us all, the gush of souls alloyed
And singing angels. Also, spare us,
When it's over, pits of hell and thunder
Crashing. You'll get by, and, being young,
Are sure to find somebody else whose
Eyes (and hands) will deeply probe,
And, in the process, I'm afraid,
Precipitate more fog.
poem by Lawrence Beck
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Guess What? ...Don't Care! ! !
Guess what
Don't care
I'm right
You'll spare
You are
Crazy
And I am
A lady
All the
Cool things
You break
I clean
When will
You be
Respectful
To me
I'll make
One last
Prediction
You'll pass
You stink
I know
You'll be
Down low
Guess what
Don't care
I'm right
You'll spare
Guess what (Guess what)
Don't care (Don't care)
I'm right (I'm right)
You'll spare (You'll spare)
All this
Time I
Am trying
To tell
You that
I don't
Care what
You think
All the
Time I
Am right
You die
Joking
You look
Like you
Could use
A day too
Guess what
Don't care
I'm right
You'll spare
1234 GUESS WHAT? ? ?
I DON'T CARE! ! !
poem by Mystykka Mysterious
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Anything You Can Spare
If you have any left of her kisses
When youre through with your latest affair
Dont let them just waste, I know how they taste
Ill take anything you can spare
And if you have a few idle moments
If youre lonely and nobodys there
Ill gladly fill in til you find a new friend
Ill take anything you can spare
Yes, ill even take some heartaches from you
Though ive already more than my share
I love you all the time, so baby keep me in mind
Ill take anything you can spare
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spare just a moment....! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Spare just a moment for the bird
Who flew from bleak winter of her habitat,
In search of warmth, food wet lands
And green fields, instead only found silt.
Spare just a moment for the bird
Who uncertainly hovers in the sky,
A grey cloud drifting by, seemed to ask why
Alone, where is your flock and why do you cry.
Spare just a moment for the bird
Who oh, so despondently alights?
Looking askance for a sanctuary,
Perplexed, why barely a marsh, rest concrete.
Spare just a moment for the bird,
Who feels lost as it sits on an electric pole
Wondering whatever happened to Neem and Babool
Which spread out arms to welcome for rest and to nest?
Spare just a moment for the bird
Who misses her good old friends
Dainty Golden Oriole, Kingfisher and Egrets,
And wonders how come only vultures lie in wait…
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Spare Change
'Spare change, spare change, ' I call out
Shaking the few pieces of worthless metal in my can
In order to get a passer-by's attention
But they pay no mind to me
They act as if I was some kind of transparent figure
As if I was not even human
But a sickly animal
And those who look either shake their heads
Or go into a fit of laughter
I despise them for their ignorance
I loathe them for their lack of compassion
'Spare change, spare change, ' I call out
Holding a brown, battered sign
But once again they ignore me
If all the world's a stage and I'm just an actor
How did I get stuck playing the beggar
Why was I born an Untouchable
Each day I stand here
Each day they pass me
Like I was a statue or sign
But when faith seems lost
A saint comes along and adds a n ounce of hope to my Pandora's Box
'Spare change, spare change, ' I call out,
This time speaking with a voice louder than a male opera singer's
Yet the people are still oblivious of me
The naive children point and laugh at me
The drunks beat me
The businessmen look at me with stone faces
And with a cold heart, disregard me
The gangs bang on me
And the women, who are the worst of all
Just stare and shake their heads
'Spare change, spare change, ' I call out
But again no one listens
So I decide to pack up for the day
For no wants to help a bum
But as I head for the nearest shelter I wonder
Can anyone spare change?
poem by Garrett Bradley
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Address To The Dalziel Brothers
“O WOODMAN, spare that block,
Oh gash not anyhow!
It took ten days by clock,
I'd fain protect it now.”
Chorus—Wild Laughter from Dalziel's Workshop.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Cold Driving Rain
It’s raining.
Cold driving rain.
Commuters rushing home from work
Home to hubby, wife and family
Spot and Cleo
And a fire on the stove.
Another day of brutal business
Accounts are squared
And errands run
No more phone calls
No more hassles
Watch some boob tube
Think of sex
Spare some change, sir
Spare some change, ma’am
I haven’t eaten for three days
You haven’t washed for three days either
Get a job, you dirty bum
I wonder how my stocks are doing
Shelter some money in a tax-free fund
Spare some change, sir
Spare some change, ma’am
Walk past quickly and ignore him
He just wants a shot of booze
Please sir
Spare some change, sir
And the rain keeps pouring down...
All is quiet on the street now
Two a.m. of a Tuesday night
All is quiet, all is peaceful
Save for the drizzling of the rain
Gently tapping
The lifeless body
Huddled on the pavement
Spare some change.
(Previously published in Rinse & Repeat, Scars Publications,1999; The Poet's Porch, Nov.2000, Poetry Soul to Soul, Apr.2002; World's Strand Anthology,2008)
poem by Laurence Overmire
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Orchard
I saw the first pear
as it fell--
the honey-seeking, golden-banded,
the yellow swarm
was not more fleet than I,
(spare us from loveliness)
and I fell prostrate
crying:
you have flayed us
with your blossoms,
spare us the beauty
of fruit-trees.
The honey-seeking
paused not,
the air thundered their song,
and I alone was prostrate.
O rough hewn
god of the orchard,
I bring you an offering--
do you, alone unbeautiful,
son of the god,
spare us from loveliness:
these fallen hazel-nuts,
stripped late of their green sheaths,
grapes, red-purple,
their berries
dripping with wine,
pomegranates already broken,
and shrunken figs
and quinces untouched,
I bring you as offering.
poem by Hilda Doolittle
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In The Shade Of The Green Wood
In the shade of the green wood
The holly does grow,
While in soft rays of sunlight
The wild roses glow,
And I smell their sweet perfume
That gently floats by,
Past trees strong and mighty
That reach to the sky,
The pathway of gold autumn
Leaves still remain,
As I walk through the green wood again.
In the shade of the green wood
This bright sunny morn,
That's so cool in the shadows
A new day is born,
All the birds in the treetops
Are singing for me,
Sweet songs of the summer
Which fill me with glee,
And know from its beauty
I never shall part,
For the green wood does live in my heart.
In the shade of the green wood
A soft gentle breeze,
Now caresses the branches
And whispers through trees,
A sound reassuring
Shall carry me to,
All the scenes that exist
In each marvellous view,
It's here that my spirit
Shall always now stay,
And the green wood is guiding my way.
poem by Andrew Blakemore
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Treason
Spare not the culprit
When the act is antinational
When the act is treason.
The soil of ones country
The safety and security
Of the Mother motherland
And mothertongue
Is in highest order
And when all these are
In danger and
In danger spare not anybody.
The nation is sacred
And more than individual life.
Life of a person is
Not permanent
The nation is permanent.
Spare not the culprit
Who put the nation
In the open market
Like anything.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The Bonny Hind
O May she comes, and may she goes,
Down by yon gardens green,
And there she spied a gallant squire
As squire had ever been.
And may she comes, and may she goes,
Down by yon hollin tree,
And there she spied a brisk young squire,
And a brisk young squire was he.
'Give me your green manteel, fair maid,
Give me your maidenhead;
Gif ye winna gie me your green manteel,
Gi me your maidenhead.'
He has taen her by the milk-white hand,
And softly laid her down,
And when he's lifted her up again
Given her a silver kaim.
'Perhaps there may be bairns, kind sir,
Perhaps there may be nane;
But if you be a courtier,
You'll tell to me your name.'
'I am na courtier, fair maid,
But new come frae the sea;
I am nae courtier, fair maid,
But when I court'ith thee.
'They call me Jack when I'm abroad,
Sometimes they call me John;
But when I'm in my father's bower
Jock Randal is my name.'
'Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny lad,
Sae loud's I hear ye lee!
For I'm Lord Randal's yae daughter,
He has nae mair nor me.'
'Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny may,
Sae loud's I hear ye lee!
For I'm Lord Randal's yae yae son,
Just now come oer the sea.'
She's putten her hand down by her spare
And out she's taen a knife,
And she has putn't in her heart's bluid,
And taen away her life.
And he's taen up his bonny sister,
With the big tear in his een,
And he has buried his bonny sister
Amang the hollins green.
And syne he's hyed him oer the dale,
His father dear to see:
'Sing O and O for my bonny hind,
Beneath yon hollin tree!'
'What needs you care for your bonny hyn?
For it you needna care;
There's aught score hyns in yonder park,
And five score hyns to spare.
'Fourscore of them are siller-shod,
Of thae ye may get three;'
'But O and O for my bonny hyn,
Beneath yon hollin tree!'
'What needs you care for your bonny hyn?
For it you needna care;
Take you the best, gi me the warst,
Since plenty is to spare.'
'I care na for your hyns, my lord,
I care na for your fee;
But O and O for my bonny hyn,
Beneath the hollin tree!'
'O were ye at your sister's bower,
Your sister fair to see,
Ye'll think na mair o your bonny hyn
Beneath the hollin tree.'
poem by Andrew Lang
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Walter Whitman Where Are You
Walter whitman where are you
Among the stars or, in the earth beneath my shoe
Its just cause Im wondering
Could you walk with me awhile
And maybe heaven could spare you awhile
Walter whitman I confess
My faith is shaken
And my lifes a holy mess
Yes, I need deliverance
But Id settle for a smile
Now maybe heaven can spare you awhile
I thought I heard you yawpin from the yonder tree
I swore I heard you say
Dont worry boy, shut up, enjoy, be free
Walter whitman I declare
I could sing songs of joy
Through my darkness and despair
Its just Im hoping
You could shed some light
That is if heaven can spare you tonight
Dont worry boy, shut up, enjoy, be free
Walter whitman I declare
I could sing songs of joy
Through my darkness and despair
Its just Im hoping
Yoy could coax a problem child
Now maybe heaven could spare you a while
Walter whitman where are you?
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spare to keep peace.
Spare him if he is weaker.
Spare yourself if he is stronger.
It is the best way to keep peace.
28.03.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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