My Lady in Her White Silk Shawl
My lady in her white silk shawl
Is like a lily dim,
Within the twilight of the room
Enthroned and kind and prim.
My lady! Pale gold is her hair.
Until she smiles her face
Is pale with far Hellenic moods,
With thoughts that find no place
In our harsh village of the West
Wherein she lives of late,
She's distant as far-hidden stars,
And cold — (almost!) — as fate.
But when she smiles she's here again
Rosy with comrade-cheer,
Puritan Bacchante made
To laugh around the year.
The merry gentle moon herself,
Heart-stirring too, like her,
Wakening wild and innocent love
In every worshipper.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Maude Clare
Out of the church she followed them
With a lofty step and mien:
His bride was like a village maid,
Maude Clare was like a queen.
“Son Thomas, ” his lady mother said,
With smiles, almost with tears:
“May Nell and you but live as true
As we have done for years;
“Your father thirty years ago
Had just your tale to tell;
But he was not so pale as you,
Nor I so pale as Nell.”
My lord was pale with inward strife,
And Nell was pale with pride;
My lord gazed long on pale Maude Clare
Or ever he kissed the bride.
“Lo, I have brought my gift, my lord,
Have brought my gift, ” she said:
To bless the hearth, to bless the board,
To bless the marriage-bed.
“Here’s my half of the golden chain
You wore about your neck,
That day we waded ankle-deep
For lilies in the beck:
“Here’s my half of the faded leaves
We plucked from the budding bough,
With feet amongst the lily leaves, -
The lilies are budding now.”
He strove to match her scorn with scorn,
He faltered in his place:
“Lady, ” he said, - “Maude Clare, ” he said, -
“Maude Clare, ” – and hid his face.
She turn’d to Nell: “My Lady Nell,
I have a gift for you;
Though, were it fruit, the blooms were gone,
Or, were it flowers, the dew.
“Take my share of a fickle heart,
Mine of a paltry love:
Take it or leave it as you will,
I wash my hands thereof.”
“And what you leave, ” said Nell, “I’ll take,
And what you spurn, I’ll wear;
For he’s my lord for better and worse,
And him I love Maude Clare.
“Yea, though you’re taller by the head,
More wise and much more fair:
I’ll love him till he loves me best,
Me best of all Maude Clare.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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The Sunset
There late was One within whose subtle being,
As light and wind within some delicate cloud
That fades amid the blue noon's burning sky,
Genius and death contended. None may know
The sweetness of the joy which made his breath
Fail, like the trances of the summer air,
When, with the Lady of his love, who then
First knew the unreserve of mingled being,
He walked along the pathway of a field
Which to the east a hoar wood shadowed o'er,
But to the west was open to the sky.
There now the sun had sunk, but lines of gold
Hung on the ashen clouds, and on the points
Of the far level grass and nodding flowers
And the old dandelion's hoary beard,
And, mingled with the shades of twilight, lay
On the brown massy woods -- and in the east
The broad and burning moon lingeringly rose
Between the black trunks of the crowded trees,
While the faint stars were gathering overhead--
'Is it not strange, Isabel,' said the youth,
'I never saw the sun? We will walk here
To-morrow; thou shalt look on it with me.'
That night the youth and lady mingled lay
In love and sleep--but when the morning came
The lady found her lover dead and cold.
Let none believe that God in mercy gave
That stroke. The lady died not, nor grew wild,
But year by year lived on--in truth I think
Her gentleness and patience and sad smiles,
And that she did not die, but lived to tend
Her agèd father, were a kind of madness,
If madness 'tis to be unlike the world.
For but to see her were to read the tale
Woven by some subtlest bard, to make hard hearts
Dissolve away in wisdom-working grief;--
Her eyes were black and lustreless and wan:
Her eyelashes were worn away with tears,
Her lips and cheeks were like things dead--so pale;
Her hands were thin, and through their wandering veins
And weak articulations might be seen
Day's ruddy light. The tomb of thy dead self
Which one vexed ghost inhabits, night and day,
Is all, lost child, that now remains of thee!
'Inheritor of more than earth can give,
Passionless calm and silence unreproved,
Whether the dead find, oh, not sleep! but rest,
And are the uncomplaining things they seem,
Or live, or drop in the deep sea of Love;
Oh, that like thine, mine epitaph were-- Peace!'
This was the only moan she ever made.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Lady in White
Lady in White
By: Adam M. Snow
She stares at me benevolently with her baby blue eyes.
How beautiful she looks, that lady in white.
I try to go on my way, but I hear her gentle cries.
I reached out to help her, but she simply vanished in the night.
Who is this that they call 'Ghost? ' my lovely Lady in White;
and do you know? Could you tell me why does my Lady cry?
Where upon nightfall approaches;
returned to the splintered bridge, where portraits my Lady in White;
only to find her crying, waiting for her lost love.
Truly this is an undesirable sight;
tears fall as she gaze essentially at stars above.
I only wish I could help her, my lovely Lady in White;
to lead her home into the light;
truly it can only be by her might.
I must go on my way and leave my Lady behind.
She's there to stay crying; waiting for her love to return.
Though my heart, I feel her tears fall upon.
From my Lady, there's so much that I learn;
that love never dies, it just lives on.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Unexpected
Dim looked the stars then disappeared
Behind the clouds pale moon appeared.
Like a damsel after a shower,
Combed hair on face lower.
The clouds passed the sky cleared,
The stars and moon again appeared.
As fairy moving away her hair,
Her face appeared so clean and fair.
Things looked calm the night waning,
The clouds gathered anew the planning.
A shawl the sky wore again,
The bitter breeze again began.
On chest of earth fell flakes of snow,
No dawn joy, no life's flow.
The trees and roofs were clothed in white,
Thus harsh became a pleasant night.
poem by Jahan zaib
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My Lady Of Castle Grand
Gray is the palace where she dwells,
Grimly the poplars stand
There by the window where she sits,
My Lady of Castle Grand.
There does she bide the livelong day,
Grim as the poplars are,
Ever her gaze goes reaching out,
Steady, but vague and far.
Bright burn the fires in the castle hall,
Brightly the fire-dogs stand;
But cold is the body and cold the heart
Of my Lady of Castle Grand.
Blue are the veins in her lily-white hands,
Blue are the veins in her brow;
Thin is the line of her blue drawn lips,
Who would be haughty now?
Pale is the face at the window-pane,
Pale as the pearl on her breast,
'Roderick, love, wilt come again?
Fares he to east or west?'
The shepherd pipes to the shepherdess,
The bird to his mate in the tree,
And ever she sighs as she hears their song,
'Nobody sings for me.'
The scullery maids have swains enow
Who lead them the way of love,
But lonely and loveless their mistress sits
At her window up above.
Loveless and lonely she waits and waits,
The saddest in all the land;
Ah, cruel and lasting is love-blind pride,
My Lady of Castle Grand.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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La Bella Donna Della Mia Mente
MY limbs are wasted with a flame,
My feet are sore with travelling,
For calling on my Lady's name
My lips have now forgot to sing.
O Linnet in the wild-rose brake
Strain for my Love thy melody,
O Lark sing louder for love's sake,
My gentle Lady passeth by.
She is too fair for any man
To see or hold his heart's delight,
Fairer than Queen or courtezan
Or moon-lit water in the night.
Her hair is bound with myrtle leaves,
(Green leaves upon her golden hair!)
Green grasses through the yellow sheaves
Of autumn corn are not more fair.
Her little lips, more made to kiss
Than to cry bitterly for pain,
Are tremulous as brook-water is,
Or roses after evening rain.
Her neck is like white melilote
Flushing for pleasure of the sun,
The throbbing of the linnet's throat
Is not so sweet to look upon.
As a pomegranate, cut in twain,
White-seeded, is her crimson mouth,
Her cheeks are as the fading stain
Where the peach reddens to the south.
O twining hands! O delicate
White body made for love and pain!
O House of love! O desolate
Pale flower beaten by the rain!
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Fragment
Moon of leaves,
Moon of the falling leaves,
To you I bring the slippers
of the sun.
That you may dance upon the
floor of sun,
My lady carries sun within her eyes.
Moon of the Unrevealed,
Moon of the gold-encrusted shield,
To you I bring the fragment
of my prayer.
Moon of the crinkled hair,
Tell me, will my lady yield
Eyes and mouth and breasts unsealed?
Will my lady yield?
Moon of the yellow streaked with red,
Moon that the sun would lead to bed,
Moon with the death's head
More than dead,
Why do you frighten the Goddess of Love,
Whose frail white fingers are moving above
The lover's white body lost in his love?
Moon, you are more than dead.
Moon of the ermine loist in the snow,
Moon of the frozen furbelow,
Moon of the nothingness here below,
Moon, you must go.
It is the Sun that tells you so-
Moon, you must go.
And I was dark beneath the moon,
And you were dark beneath the moon,
And we were dark beneath the moon.
Now I am gold beneath the sun,
Now you are gold beneath the sun,
Now we are gold beneath the Sun.
poem by Harry Crosby
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A New England Valentine
O, SWEET little maid of a Puritan line,
O, dear little maid of a Puritan town,
On the morn of that saint whom they name Valentine,
I am asking a boon,—and I pray do not frown;
For, coy little Puritan maid of to-day,
I ask but a quaint little Puritan "Yea."
Look around on the walls of your Puritan home,
Where your prim lady ancestors hang in a row,
In quaint little kerchiefs, in cap and in comb;
Take counsel by them, dear, for well do you know
You would not be here, little maiden, to-day
If they had not spoken that Purtian "Yea."
Your pride is in them, and your faith and your love;
Ah, is there not some overflowing for me?
They lived long ago, and they hang far above,
I am nearer and younger,—Ah, cannot it be?
Then send me an answer this Valentine's day,
But pray it be not that cold Puritan "Nay!"
poem by Abbie Farwell Brown from The New England Magazine / Volume 21, Issue 6 (1897)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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My Love Outshines The Summer Sun (Sonnet Corona)
(after William Shakespeare)
I
My love outshines the summer sun,
even stars in their remote twinkling light
and her eyes are more beautiful, each one
than the stars glimmering at night
Her cheeks is dimpled cute
her hair is an auburn crown,
her cheeks is rosy beyond repute
her hair is sun-shot twisting in a way of their own.
Her lips are more soft and warm
and her spirit is more mild
than a ray of light falling on my arm
or at times more free and wild
than birds where they fly,
my love is like the radiant sapphire sky.
II
My love is like the radiant sapphire sky
like the breeze rustling through trees
so lovely on my eye,
eager to please.
My love is like the summer sun,
like the blue hued sea
always warm and full of fun,
touching me gently
even when the darkness calls
and when time goes to its finality
like a star her light still falls,
my love stays true to me
in every thing her face I see
so gentle, sweet and free.
III
So gentle, sweet and free
my love lives her life
but I long for her to be near to me
in a world without any strive.
Like a lily prospering alone in the marsh
blooming pure and serene,
my darling lives unknown to a world harsh
out of control, away from the limelight scene
and in that rural place
her beauty is untouched by makeup,
filled with a sweet grace
and even in the morning when she wakes up
the sun is in her hair,
my darling is really fair.
IV
My darling is really fair
there are stars in her eyes,
she’s the most beautiful flower found anywhere,
her eyes are much more pure than the bluest skies.
When she smiles at me,
smiling tenderly,
I in her smile blessings see
as if love is there in all of its glory.
Still more so the bliss
that is caught in her kiss
that comes from the divine
which she is making mine
and sometimes the beauty makes her cry,
when the day flutters by.
V
When the day flutters by
with the sun setting red
you will find my love and I
where stars come out from bed,
then like a butterfly
the sun kisses the night,
touches the dark low and high
before it goes by with its last light
and she unloosens my tie
while we watch the full yellow moon,
while the fire in her eyes lie
sparkling, much brighter than the sunny afternoon,
but with a passing bat flying low she catches a fright,
while the stars are shining bright.
VII
While the stars are shining bright
like jewels in the sky’s crown
on a winter night
it has tranquillity, a beauty of its own,
her eyes are radiant,
as if aflame
lovely and brilliant
and of some she know the name
and something indiscernibly small
creeps into the very soul, into the heart
and of it that is all,
a smouldering, something with which we cannot part:
to me she remains the only one in joy and fun,
my love outshines the summer sun.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Lady Of The Night
They call her the lady of the night
Shes a woman of the world
And easy-living girl with love for sale
Thats what they call her the lady of the night
No one seems to know her name
And even less about the place
From where she came
Every evening when the night is close at hand
Youll find the lady on the rue davignon
In a half lit hotel doorway the lady advertises warmly
Its just a job but shell do the best she can
Dont try to change this lady of the night
Shes a lot like you and me
And less than what she seems to be
(she is the lady of the night)
And easy-living girl
(she is the lady of the night)
Shes a woman of the world
(she is the lady of the night)
With lots of loving for sale
(she is the lady of the night)
Lady lady of the night
Round here they call her the lady of the night
In a perfume hotel room
Shadows dance upon the wall and fate at dawn
Shes no beginner this lady of the night
Never try that funny stuff
cause lady can be tough
Be warned!
(she is the lady of the night)
Shes a lot like you and me
(she is the lady of the night)
And never just what she seems
(she is the lady of the night)
No one seems to know her name
(she is the lady of the night)
Or the place from where she came
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hearts First Word. II
And all her soft dark hair
Breathed for him like a prayer,
And her white lost face
Was prisoned to sonie far place.
Love was not denied-
Love's ends would hide,
And Hower and fruit and tree
Were under its sea.
Yea, its abundance knelt
Where the nerves felt
The springs of feeling flow
And made pain grow !
There seemed no root or sky,
But a pent infinity
Where apparitions dim
Sculptured each whim
In dame and wandering mist
Of kisses to be kist.
LADY, YOU ARE MY GOD
Lady, you are my God-
Lady, you are my Heaven.
If I am your God
Labour for your Heaven.
Lady, you are my God,
And shall not love win Heaven ?
If love made me God
Deeds must win my Heaven.
If my love made you God,
What more can 1 for Heaven ?
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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Corrected News
'T was a maiden lady (the newspapers say)
Pious and prim and a bit gone-gray.
She slept like an angel, holy and white,
Till ten o' the clock in the shank o' the night
(When men and other wild animals prey)
And then she cried in the viewless gloom:
'There's a man in the room, a man in the room!'
And this maiden lady (they make it appear)
Leapt out of the window, five fathom sheer!
Alas, that lying is such a sin
When newspaper men need bread and gin
And none can be had for less than a lie!
For the maiden lady a bit gone-gray
Saw the man in the room from across the way,
And leapt, not out of the window but in
_Ten_ fathom sheer, as I hope to die!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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GOD's Love
Have you ever seen a sample?
A sample of God’s love?
Have I, I would say I’m sure.
T’was a won’drous sight.
A lady of many years,
spied a child of hardly any.
Wandering older eyes,
Met wondering younger eyes.
Their eyes brightly shined,
as if captive stars.
In place of any words,
two smiles warmed the air.
This lady of many years,
with open arms beckoned.
Sans hesitation,
eagerly, the child reached out.
In amazement we watched,
the child’s parents and I.
As this gentle lady cradled,
a bundle of love to her breast.
An inspiring sight it was,
together so content.
The child of hardly any,
and the lady, of many years.
What magic passed between them.
The lady of so many and the child,
of hardly any years.
I’m unable to explain.
My only reply if asked,
I was privileged to see.
A sample, oh so seldom seen.
A sample of, GOD’s love
11DEC94
poem by Kurt Hearth
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Lady Clare
IT was the time when lilies blow,
And clouds are highest up in air,
Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe
To give his cousin, Lady Clare.
I trow they did not part in scorn-
Lovers long-betroth'd were they:
They too will wed the morrow morn:
God's blessing on the day !
'He does not love me for my birth,
Nor for my lands so broad and fair;
He loves me for my own true worth,
And that is well,' said Lady Clare.
In there came old Alice the nurse,
Said, 'Who was this that went from thee?'
'It was my cousin,' said Lady Clare,
'To-morrow he weds vith me.'
'O God be thank'd!' said Alice the nurse,
' That all comes round so just and fair:
Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands,
And you are not the Lady Clare.'
'Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse?'
Said Lady Clare, 'that ye speak so wild?'
'As God's above,' said Alice the nurse,
' I speak the truth: you are my child.
'The old Earl's daughter died at my breast;
I speak the truth, as I live by bread!
I buried her like my own sweet child,
And put my child in her stead.'
'Falsely, falsely have ye done,
O mother,' she said, ' if this be true,
To keep the best man under the sun
So many years from his due.'
'Nay now, my child,' said Alice the nurse,
'But keep the secret for your life,
And all you have will be Lord Ronald's,
When you are man and wife.'
' If I'm a beggar born,' she said,
'I will speak out, for I dare not lie.
Pull off, pull off, the brooch of gold,
And fling the diamond necklace by.'
'Nay now, my child,' said Alice the nurse,
'But keep the secret all ye can.'
She said, ' Not so: but I will know
If there be any faith in man.'
'Nay now, what faith ?' said Alice the nurse,
'The man will cleave unto his right.'
'And he shall have it,' the lady replied,
'Tho' I should die to-night.'
'Yet give one kiss to your mother dear !
Alas, my child, I sinn'd for thee.'
'O mother, mother, mother,' she said,
'So strange it seems to me.
'Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear,
My mother dear, if this be so,
And lay your hand upon my head,
And bless me, mother, ere I go.'
She clad herself in a russet gown,
She was no longer Lady Clare:
She went by dale, and she went by down,
With a single rose in her hair.
The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought
Leapt up from where she lay,
Dropt her head in the maiden's hand,
And follow'd her all the way.
Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower:
'O Lady Clare, you shame your worth!
Why come you drest like a village maid,
That are the flower of the earth?'
'If I come drest like a village maid,
I am but as my fortunes are:
I am a beggar born,' she said,
'And not the Lady Clare.'
'Play me no tricks,' said Lord Ronald,
'For I am yours in word and in deed.
Play me no tricks,' said Lord Ronald,
'Your riddle is hard to read.'
O and proudly stood she up !
Her heart within her did not fail:
She look'd into Lord Ronald's eyes,
And told him all her nurse's tale.
He laugh'd a laugh of merry scorn:
He turn'd and kiss'd her where she stood:
'If you are not the heiress born,
And I,' said he, 'the next in blood--
'If you are not the heiress born,
And I,' said he, ' the lawful heir,
We two will wed to-morrow morn,
And you shall still be Lady Clare.'
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Purple Silk
Purple silk caresses my skin like butter,
It is like the richest, darkest chocolate,
Wicked, yet magical, touches that soothe,
My skin soft to the touch,
As purple silk lets you win,
For you are like the sweetest candy to me,
You are like sugar: so sweet,
And every night, I wait for your return,
Myself having worked my fingers to the bone,
But you are my only one,
You matter more to me than the summer sun,
Because it doesn't matter to me if it is winter:
All that matters is that you are here,
Keeping me in your heart and me keeping you near,
I just know we were born equal,
For this is our spirit and our destiny,
A magical, flower filled path that we are walking along,
For together we are one: we are strong,
And we brave those storms,
That threaten to take us from the warm,
And leave us alone and destitiute,
But we are together and together we hold on,
Purple silk covering our kingsize bed,
As we renew our vows with a kiss,
And treasure this true love for always,
Our love as rich as pure gold.
Purple silk carresses my skin,
Like the richest, most luxurious cream,
And I feel the summer night breeze,
Against my beautifully, made-up face,
That smiles with real happiness,
For I have a new lover,
That I wear beautiful purple silk for,
And I lie there, naked on the bedroom floor,
The clock striking midnight,
The party not over for us,
For I have found true love,
Where kisses are so sweet,
And touches that leave me fizzy,
Because I am drunk on his love and am dizzy,
And I care about the world I live in,
And the opinions of people who live here,
In this place, this life, this time,
And he is magical, truly mine,
Like the moon and the stars of the night sky,
I treasure him like gold from a treasure chest,
And for him I do my best,
To build us a happy home,
Where we live in harmony,
And share a closeness so rare,
Like the most beautiful red ruby,
And I wear his gold wedding ring,
His beauty so great that lovers sing,
Because he lives deep inside my heart,
Purple silk for magical nights,
The room glowing from the light of the moon,
For we belong together; our bodies joining together,
And he stars in my realm of dreams,
And he is the hero in this movie scene,
So close to my heart, I cannot desert him,
And together we tackle our lives,
And deal with harsh, grey days,
Waiting for darkness to fall,
So we can be together again, for we fit,
Like the lace and silk of any garment,
That lovers share,
My skin electric with excited sweat,
And lovely shivers go through my bones,
For tonight I carress your skin with purple silk,
Our clothes discarded on the bedroom floor,
The only light being cast like magic from the moon.
poem by Paula Glynn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To A Child
(Rosamund.)
The fairies have been busy while you slept;
They have been laughing where the sad rain wept,
They have taught Beauty to the ignorant flowers,
Set tasks of hope to weary wind-torn bowers,
And heard the lessons learned in school-rooms cold
By seedling snapdragon and marigold.
At dawn, while still you slept, I grew aware
How good the fairies are, how many and fair.
The fairy whose delightful gown is red
Across a corner of our garden sped,
And, where her flying raiment fluttered past,
Its roseate reflection still is cast:
Red poppies by the rhododendron's side,
Paeonies gorgeous in their summer pride,
And red may-bushes by the old red wall
Shower down their crimson petals over all.
Then she whose gown is gold, and gold her hair,
Swept down the golden steep straight sunbeam-stair,
She lit the tulip-lamps, she lit the torch
Of hollyhock beside the cottage porch.
She dressed the honeysuckle in fringe of gold,
She gave the king-cups fairy wealth to hold,
She kissed St. John's wort till it opened wide,
She set the yarrow by the river side.
Then came the lady all whose robes are white:
She made the pale buds blossom in delight,
Set silver stars upon the jasmine's hair,
And gave the stream white lily-buds to wear.
She painted lilies white, and pearl-white phlox,
White poppies, passion-flowers and gray-leaved stocks.
Her pure kind touch redeemed the most forlorn,
And even the vile petunia smiled, new-born.
The dearest fairy of all--green is her gown--
She kissed the plane-trees in the tiresome town,
She smoothed the pastures and the lawn's pale sheen,
She decked the boughs with hangings fresh and green,
She showed each flower the one and only way
Its beauty of shape and colour to display;
She taught the world to be a Paradise
Of changing leaf and blade, for tired eyes.
Then, one and all, they came where you were laid
In your strait bed, my little lovely maid;
The red-robed fairy kissed your lips, your face,
The white-robed made your heart her dwelling-place.
Into your eyes the green robed fairy smiled;
The golden fairy touched your dreams, my child,
And one, not named, but mightiest, made my Dear
The innermost rose of the re-flowered year.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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My April Lady
When down the stair at morning
The sunbeams round her float,
Sweet rivulets of laughter
Are bubbling in her throat;
The gladness of her greeting
Is gold without alloy;
And in the morning sunlight
I think her name is Joy.
When in the evening twilight
The quiet book-room lies,
We read the sad old ballads,
While from her hidden eyes
The tears are falling, falling,
That give her heart relief;
And in the evening twilight,
I think her name is Grief.
My little April lady,
Of sunshine and of showers,
She weaves the old spring magic,
And breaks my heart in flowers!
But when her moods are ended,
She nestles like a dove;
Then, by the pain and rapture,
I know her name is Love.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lady I Cant Explain
Lady I cant explain
By: jimmy buffett
1979
What could I do?
Thats never been done before
What can I say?
That hasnt been said by scores
If I was a designer I could do nothin finer
Than dress you in style
But Im a hopeless romantic still behind all these antics
Is a heart full of smiles
So Ill just keep on dreamin (Ill just keep on dreamin)
Thoughts that are in my brain
You just keep on bein
Lady I cant explain
I know that ive
The imagination of a child
And there are times
When I let it all run wild
But if I hurt, you forgive
Still you wont let me live
Some of those episodes down
Thats why I love you
And put no one above you
Love your sights and your sounds
So, Ill just keep on movin (Ill just keep on movin)
When the forecast calls for rain
You just keep on bein
Lady I cant explain
So Ill just keep on movin (Ill just keep on movin)
When the forecast calls for rain
You just keep on bein
The lady I cant explain
No no, the lady I cant explain
Coda:
Ah, yes I love you
Put no one above you
Youre the lady I cant explain
Notes -
Background vocals: james taylor, deborah mccoll
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Licia Sonnets 52
O sugared talk, wherewith my thoughts do live!
O brows, love's trophy and my senses' shine!
O charming smiles, that death or life can give!
O heavenly kisses from a mouth divine!
O wreaths too strong, and trammels made of hair!
O pearls incloséd in an ebon pale!
O rose and lilies in a field most fair,
Where modest white doth make the red seem pale!
O voice whose accents live within my heart!
O heavenly hand that more than Atlas holds!
O sighs perfumed, that can release my smart!
O happy they whom in her arms she folds!
Now if you ask where dwelleth all this bliss,
Seek out my love and she will tell you this.
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Winter Moon
Its the sweet sultry taste of winter on my lips,
the shadow of the pale moonlight on my eyes,
and behind the thin drapes of midnight clouds,
amidst the stars shining bright and clear,
smiles the radiance of the winter moon.
If I had seen heaven,
I would admit I had seen it,
hiding shyly behind the curtains of the night,
the winter moon at zenith, smiles down at me.
Its this breeze blowing gently,
mixing the scent of the winter with the moon,
and I stay awake,
my heart filled to the brim with love,
appreciating the splendour of the winter moon!
poem by Amatulla Mohammadi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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