A Mournful One Am I
A mournful one am I, above whose head
A day of perfect bliss hath never past;
Whatever joys my soul have ravished,
Soon was the radiance of those joys o'ercast.
And none can show me that substantial pleasure
Which will not pass away like bloom from flowers;
Therefore, no more my heart such joys shall treasure,
Nor pine for fading sweets and fleeting hours.
poem by Walther von der Vogelweide
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To Her Whose Name
To her whose name,
With its sweet sibilant sound like sudden showers
Splashing the grass and flowers,
Hath set my April heart aflame;
To her whose face,
The flower and crown of all created things,
Dearer than even Spring's,
Hath been to me a sacrament of grace;
Whose luminous mind,
Stored with all gladness of the earth and sky,
Hath lightened my sad eye
And made it wise in love which erst was blind;
Whose voice of pleasure,
Calling to joys as a blithe wedding bell
When ringers ring it well,
Hath tuned my soul to its own happy measure;
Whose blessed hand,
With its white mystery of fingers five,
Each one a soul alive,
Hath taught me truths no angels understand;
Whose arms within,
Should she once clasp me to her very heart,
God knoweth we should not part
But live for aye in Heaven's own bliss divine;
To her, alas,
Who is so near, yet standeth still so far,
Seeing the mortal bar
Betwixt us ever which we cannot pass,
These lines I send
With my heart's tears to--night beseeching her,
Of her dear love more dear,
To be no less to me my sweetest soul and friend.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Hymn 105
Heaven invisible and holy.
1 Cor. 2:9,10; Rev. 21:27.
Nor eye hath seen, nor ear hath heard,
Nor sense nor reason known,
What joys the Father hath prepared
For those that love the Son.
But the good Spirit of the Lord
Reveals a heav'n to come;
The beams of glory in his word
Allure and guide us home.
Pure are the joys above the sky,
And all the region peace;
No wanton lips nor envious eye
Can see or taste the bliss.
Those holy gates for ever bar
Polution, sin, and shame
None shall obtain admittance there
But followers of the Lamb.
He keeps the Father's book of life,
There all their names are found;
The hypocrite in vain shall strive
To tread the heav'nly ground
poem by Isaac Watts
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Ehue! Fugaces, Posthume, Labuntur Anni
Fleeting years are ever bearing
In their silent course away
All that in our pleasures sharing
Lent to life a cheering ray.
Beauty's cheek but blooms to wither,
Smiling hours but come to fly;
They are gone; Time's but the giver
Of whate'er is doomed to die.
Thou may'st touch with blighting finger
All that sense can here enjoy;
Yet within my soul shall linger
That which thou canst not destroy.
Love's sweet voice shall there awaken
Joys that earth cannot impart;
Joys that live when thou hast taken
All that here can charm the heart.
As the years come gliding by me,
Fancy's pleasing visions rise;
Beauty's cheek, ah! still I see thee,
Still your glances, soft blue eyes!
poem by Jones Very
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To love again and remember
To love again and remember
~
To love again and remember
The joys of a youthful laugh
The whispered words of lovers
The giggles and private jokes
Each kiss stolen when possible
A smile as you say beautiful
The curl of the lips raises up
What little joys remain kept
The touch of another’s hand
Holding tightly not letting go
To be in love again and remember
Every little private pleasure
In the heart which is singing
All the joys of being in love
Aloud and in secret it is clear
How happy it is to remember
The joys of a youthful laugh
Private jokes and kisses stolen
Smiling through whispered words
Eyes looking into each other
Oh to love again and remember
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Address To Music
OH thou! whose soft, bewitching lyre,
Can lull the sting of pain to rest;
Oh thou! whose warbling notes inspire,
The pensive muse with visions blest;
Sweet music! let thy melting airs
Enhance my joys, and sooth my cares!
Is there enchantment in thy voice,
Thy dulcet harp, thy moving measure;
To bid the mournful mind rejoice,
To raise the fairy form of pleasure?
Yes, heav'nly maid! a charm is thine,
A magic art, a spell divine!
Sweet music! when thy notes we hear,
Some dear remembrance oft they bring,
Of friends belov'd, no longer near,
And days that flew on rapture's wing;
Hours of delight that long are past,
And dreams of joy, too bright to last!
And oft 'tis thine the soul to fire,
With glory's animating flame,
Bid valor's noble sons aspire
To win th' immortal wreath of fame
Thine too, the soft, expressive tones,
That pity, tender pity owns!
Oh harmony! celestial pow'r!
Thou syren of the melting soul!
In sorrow's reign, in pleasure's hour,
My heart shall own thy blest control;
And ever let thy moving airs,
Enhance my joys and sooth my cares!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Joys
There are some joys within this world,
which words can never express.
The miracle of witnessing the birth
of another human being.
The forever love of two in whom
no raging storms can ever part.
The holding in your hands
the carefully crafted book of your own.
These are just some of the joys
that there are no words to fully express.
They are feeling on you can feel
and joys only you know.
poem by David Harris
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By A Person Of Quality.
Remote from Strife, from urban Throngs, and Noise.
Here dwells my Soul amidst domestic Joys:
No ratling Coaches serious Thoughts annoy;
Nor busy prating Fools my Peace destroy:
Wrapt up in all the Sweets of rural Ease,
My great Creator's Works my Senses please.
The Mind, in peaceful Solitude, has Room
To range in Thought, and ramble far from home,
Others may court the Joys which Princes give,
Whilst I, in sacred Silence, truly live.
poem by Mary Barber
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Joys Of Christmas
I see all the tough guys still not 25
Dying on their feet
Coughing, honking, cadging cigarettes
And still out on the street
Well, they got no money, nowhere to go
Fathers of 2, 3 maybe 4, what are they gonna do
Jimmy got a busted mouth in a fight last night
He says hes ok
Going down to the workies club (thats a laugh)
To buy something strong and take the pain away
Joys of christmas
Joys of christmas
Northern style
Flashing christmas light of police blue
Go spinning down the street
Women try to drag the men from pubs
Into the stores
And work hands in empty pockets deep
We stand outside the neon ice and wish ourselves the best
He says hes ok, out of work and fighting
Is all hes ever known
And laughs and says I worry too much anyway
Joys of christmas
Joys of christmas
Northern style
Lets drink to the likes of jim
Before we all go insane
And please dont ask me why
Itll take too long to explain
Joys of christmas
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Of joys and pleasing pains
Of joys and pleasing pains I late went singing,
O joys with pains! O pains with joys consenting!
And little thought as then of now repenting;
But now think of my then sweet bitter stinging,
All day long I my hands, alas! go wringing,
The baleful notes of which, my sad tormenting,
Are ruth and moan, frights, sobs, and loud lamenting,
From hills and dales, in my dull ears still ringing.
poem by John Wilbye
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The Revival
1 Unfold! unfold! Take in His light,
2 Who makes thy cares more short than night.
3 The joys which with His day-star rise,
4 He deals to all but drowsy eyes;
5 And (what the men of this world miss)
6 Some drops and dews of future bliss.
7 Hark! how his winds have chang'd their note,
8 And with warm whispers call thee out.
9 The frosts are past, the storms are gone,
10 And backward life at last comes on.
11 The lofty groves in express joys
12 Reply unto the turtle's voice;
13 And here in dust and dirt, O here
14 The lilies of His love appear!
poem by Henry Vaughan
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Are not the joys of morning sweeter...
Are not the joys of morning sweetert
Than the joys of night
And are the vigrous joys of youth
Ashamed of the light
5 Let age & sickness silent rob
The vineyards in the night
But those who burn with vigrous youth
Pluck fruits before the light
poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1793)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Have Joy
I have joy when loves are forsaken,
They are likes now that make the enjoyment.
The joys are numerous, to prefer a pleasure
Is to abstain from wrong, the wrong of danger
And the jeopardy existing in the vicinity.
Pleasure transforms into ecstasy,
Only when joys are eccentrically strong
And have stimulation, stronger pushes after the floods
That occupy our friendship.
The joyous friends fed our minds
And forsook the danger, the jeopardy, and the injury.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Lines To Grief
COME Grief, and sing a solemn dirge
Beneath this midnight shade;
From central darkness now emerge,
And tread the lonely glade.
This is the cheerless hour of night,
For sorrow only made;
When no intrusive rays of light,
The silent gloom pervade.
Though such the darkness of my soul,
Not such the calmness there;
But waves of guilt tumultuous roll
'Midst billows of despair.
Fallacious Pleasure's tinsel train
My soul rejects with scorn;
If higher joys she can't attain,
She'd rather choose to mourn.
For bliss superior she was made;
Or for extreme despair;
If pain awaits her past the dead,
Why should she triumph here?
Tho' Reason points at good supreme,
Yet Grace must lead us thence
Must wake us from this pleasing dream,
The idle joys of Sense.
Surely I wish the blackest night
Of Nature to remain,
Till Christ arise with healing light,
Then welcome day again.
poem by Ann Eliza Bleecker
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After The French Liberation Of Italy
AS when the last of the paid joys of love
Has come and gone; and with a single kiss
At length, and with one laugh of satiate bliss,
The wearied man a minute rests above
The wearied woman, no more urged to move
In those long throes of longing, till they glide,
Now lightlier clasped, each to the other's side,
In joys past acting, not past dreaming of:—
So Europe now beneath this paramour
Lies for a little out of use,—full oft
Submissive to his lust, a loveless whore.
He wakes, she sleeps, the breath falls slow and soft.
Wait: the bought body holds a birth within,
An harlot's child, to scourge her for her sin.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Elegy X: The Dream
Image of her whom I love, more than she,
Whose fair impression in my faithful heart
Makes me her medal, and makes her love me,
As Kings do coins, to which their stamps impart
The value: go, and take my heart from hence,
Which now is grown too great and good for me:
Honours oppress weak spirits, and our sense
Strong objects dull; the more, the less we see.
When you are gone, and Reason gone with you,
Then Fantasy is queen and soul, and all;
She can present joys meaner than you do;
Convenient, and more proportional.
So, if I dream I have you, I have you,
For, all our joys are but fantastical.
And so I 'scape the pain, for pain is true;
And sleep which locks up sense, doth lock out all.
After a such fruition I shall wake,
And, but the waking, nothing shall repent;
And shall to love more thankful sonnets make
Than if more honour, tears, and pains were spent.
But dearest heart, and dearer image, stay;
Alas, true joys at best are dream enough;
Though you stay here you pass too fast away:
For even at first life's taper is a snuff.
Filied with her love, may I be rather grown
Mad with much heart, than idiot with none.
poem by John Donne
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The Invitation
DAMON.
Haste! Sylvia! haste, my charming Maid!
Let's leave these fashionable toys;
Let's seek the shelter of some shade,
And revel in ne'er fading joys.
See spring in liv'ry gay appears,
And winter's chilly blasts are fled;
Each grove its leafy honours rears,
And meads their lovely verdure spread!
SYLVIA.
Yes Damon, glad I'll quit the town,
Its gaities now languid seem;
Then sweets to luxury unknown
We'll taste, and sip th' untainted stream.
In Summer's sultry noon-tide heat,
I'll lead thee to the shady grove;
There hush thy cares, or pleas'd repeat
Those vows that won my soul to love.
DAMON.
When o'er the mountain peeps the dawn,
And round her ruddy beauties play,
I'll wake my Love to view the lawn,
Or hear the warblers hall the day.
But, without thee, the rising morn
In vain awakes the cooling breeze,
In vain does nature's face adorn;
Without my Sylvia nought can please.
SYLVIA.
At night, when universal gloom
Hides the bright prospect from our view,
When the gay groves give up their bloom,
And verdant meads their lovely hue;
Tho' fleeting spectres round me move,
When in thy circling arms I'm prest,
I'll hush my rising fears with love,
And sink in slumber on thy breast.
DAMON.
The new-blown rose, whilst on its leaves
Yet the bright scented dew-drops found,
Pleas'd on thy bosom, whilst it heaves,
Shall shake its heav'nly fragrance round.
Then mingled sweets the sense shall raise,
Then mingled beauties catch the eye;
What pleasure on such charms to gaze!
What rapture mid such sweets to lie!
SYLVIA.
How sweet thy words!--but, Damon cease,
Nor strive to fix me ever here;
Too well you know these accents please,
That oft have fill'd my ravish'd ear.
Come, lead me to these promis'd joys,
That dwelt so lately on thy tongue;
Direct me by thy well known voice,
And calm my transports with thy song!
poem by Thomas Godfrey
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Against Love
*
Hence Cupid! with your cheating toys,
Your real griefs, and painted joys,
Your pleasure which itself destroys.
Lovers like men in fevers burn and rave,
And only what will injure them do crave.
Men's weakness makes love so severe,
They give him power by their fear,
And make the shackles which they wear.
Who to another does his heart submit,
Makes his own idol, and then worships it.
Him whose heart is all his own,
Peace and liberty does crown,
He apprehends no killing frown.
He feels no raptures which are joys diseased,
And is not much transported, but still pleased.
*
poem by Katherine Philips
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Sonnet-Life
Life's fabric has both threads of joys and woes;
You take away the woes, it will not stand;
When both in optimum scales, well it goes;
You take away the joys, you can't withstand.
Life is a battle, we do always fight;
Sometimes with others' help; sometimes alone;
The war is waged between darkness and light;
When victory comes, we laugh; if not we groan.
Small things in life do matter very much;
Small acts of kindness can purchase hearts;
Small courtesies can most cruel hearts touch;
Small acts of help to people work like darts.
Like your life and it will give you pleasure;
Love your life and it will be your treasure.
poem by John Celes
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That State of Wellness
WELL, well, well
Here we are again
Back to each other’s mouths?
You and i
Me,
The three sides
Tripod
Talk to me You
I am
(not exactly lonely
But I must confess
I need to talk to someone
Who must confess
To like me
(Silly? But I think we really need
Still
That confirmation that we have
Followed the rules
And that we are
Ok)
Well, well, well
There’s no island
Like a man
Or at least man can be a chain
Linked to one another
That chain that chains his body
To his soul
His soul to another body
A body to another body
All messed up
In the joys and pleasures
Of sorrows and pains
Salad
Days and hours and seconds
And Silence
How many more? How many more
Are becoming dead like
Everyone else
Searching for the meaning of our
Hundred ripening silences
Justifications for pains
Elevating pleasures for blissful joys
How many murmurs more?
At dawn.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sonnet. To A Lady Seen For A Few Moments At Vauxhall
Time's sea hath been five years at its slow ebb,
Long hours have to and fro let creep the sand,
Since I was tangled in thy beauty's web,
And snared by the ungloving of thine hand.
And yet I never look on midnight sky,
But I behold thine eyes' well memory'd light;
I cannot look upon the rose's dye,
But to thy cheek my soul doth take its flight.
I cannot look on any budding flower,
But my fond ear, in fancy at thy lips
And hearkening for a love-sound, doth devour
Its sweets in the wrong sense: -- Thou dost eclipse
Every delight with sweet remembering,
And grief unto my darling joys dost bring.
poem by John Keats
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