Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XVIII
Alas, poor Queen of Beauty! In my heart
I could weep for you and your sad graceless doom.
You stand at my life's threshold in the part
Of king's chief jester in the ante--room,
And none more near the throne. You made us sport
According to your folly, and passed on,
And now you live with pension in Love's Court,
And privilege to jest and wear the crown.
Yes, I could weep for you. Your part it was
To strike the cymbals on a night sublime
For Love's first bridal dance. Alas, alas!
Time, the avenger of our manhood's prime,
Is gathering all life courtiers to his cell,
And you among the rest. So fare you well.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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To the Memory of
I once could hope—alas! no more
Her bright wings wave for me;
The sunlit hours of life are o'er,
I weep, dear love, for thee!
And in those tears—and in that sigh
Will fond remembrance dwell;
'Tis all remains when dear ones lie
Within death's darksome cell.
So young! so pure!—alas! that thou
In marble tomb should sleep!
And leave the weary heart and brow
Thy vigils lone to keep.
And yet 'tis better thus than feel
The crushed heart's mad despair;
Alas! no balm those woes may heal
Love—death—have planted there.
Farewell! farewell! my buried love,
No pangs may wring thy heart;
Enough for me to gaze above,
To meet where none may part!
poem by Edward Henry Bickersteth
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Sigh On, Sad Heart, for Love's Eclipse
Sigh on, sad heart, for Love's eclipse
And Beauty's fairest queen,
Though 'tis not for my peasant lips
To soil her name between:
A king might lay his sceptre down,
But I am poor and nought,
The brow should wear a golden crown
That wears her in its thought.
The diamonds glancing in her hair,
Whose sudden beams surprise,
Might bid such humble hopes beware
The glancing of her eyes;
Yet looking once, I look'd too long,
And if my love is sin,
Death follows on the heels of wrong,
And kills the crime within.
Her dress seem'd wove of lily leaves,
It was so pure and fine,
O lofty wears, and lowly weaves,—
But hodden-gray is mine;
And homely hose must step apart,
Where garter'd princes stand,
But may he wear my love at heart
That wins her lily hand!
Alas! there's far from russet frieze
To silks and satin gowns,
But I doubt if God made like degrees
In courtly hearts and clowns.
My father wrong'd a maiden's mirth,
And brought her cheeks to blame,
And all that's lordly of my birth
Is my reproach and shame!
'Tis vain to weep,—'tis vain to sigh,
'Tis vain, this idle speech,
For where her happy pearls do lie,
My tears may never reach;
Yet when I'm gone, e'en lofty pride
May say, of what has been,
His love was nobly born and died,
Though all the rest was mean!
My speech is rude,—but speech is weak
Such love as mine to tell,
Yet had I words, I dare not speak,
So, Lady, fare thee well;
I will not wish thy better state
Was one of low degree,
But I must weep that partial fate
Made such a churl of me.
poem by Thomas Hood
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Corn Grinders
O little mouse, why dost thou cry
While merry stars laugh in the sky?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah, who will ease my bitter pain?
He went to seek a millet-grain
In the rich farmer's granary shed;
They caught him in a baited snare,
And slew my lover unaware:
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
O little deer, why dost thou moan,
Hid in thy forest-bower alone?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah! who will quiet my lament?
At fall of eventide he went
To drink beside the river-head;
A waiting hunter threw his dart,
And struck my lover through the heart.
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
O little bride, why dost thou weep
With all the happy world asleep?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah, who will stay these hungry tears,
Or still the want of famished years,
And crown with love my marriage-bed?
My soul burns with the quenchless fire
That lit my lover's funeral pyre:
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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Ay Me, Ay Me, I Sigh the Scythe A-field
Ay me, ay me, I sigh to see the scythe a-field;
Down goeth the grass, soon wrought to wither'd hay:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that beauty needs must yield,
And princes pass, as grass doth fade away.
Ay me, ay me, that life can not have lasting leave,
Nor gold take hold of everlasting joy:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that time hath talents to receive,
And yet no time can make a suer stay.
Ay me, ay me, that wit can not have wished choice,
Nor wish can win that will desires to see:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that mirth can promise no rejoice,
Nor study tell what afterward shall be.
Ay me, ay me, that no sure staff is given to age,
Nor age can give sure wit that youth will take:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that no counsel wise and sage
Will shun the show that all doth mar and make.
Ay me, ay me, come, Time, shear on and shake thy hay,
It is no boot to balk thy bitter blows:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, come, Time, take everything away,
For all is thine, be it good or bad, that grows.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Ni-Chan’s Dirge For Yen-Oey
SO soon asleep! Now must the coming years
Weep ignorantly their loss they cannot know,
And life miss ever what has never been
We weep to-day, let theirs be sadder tears
Who have not seen thee near as we have seen,
Who shall but learn a hope died long ago.
Alas for flowers untimely winds have broken,
That should have scattered seed of following flowers!
Alas for ruin of unbuilded towers!
Alas for ripening words that die unspoken!
But let them weep with sadder tears than ours
Who shall but learn a hope died long ago,
A world's hope long ago.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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A Greek Girl
I may not weep, not weep, and he is dead.
A weary, weary weight of tears unshed
Through the long day in my sad heart I bear;
The horrid sun with all unpitying glare
Shines down into the dreary weaving-room,
Where clangs the ceaseless clatter of the loom,
And ceaselessly deft maiden-fingers weave
The fine-wrought web; and I from morn till eve
Work with the rest, and when folk speak to me
I smile hard smiles; while still continually
The silly stream of maiden speech flows on:--
And now at length they talk of him that's gone,
Lightly lamenting that he died so soon--
Ah me! ere yet his life's sun stood at noon.
Some praise his eyes, some deem his body fair,
And some mislike the colour of his hair!
Sweet life, sweet shape, sweet eyes, and sweetest hair,
What form, what hue, save Love's own, did ye wear?
I may not weep, not weep, for very shame.
He loved me not. One summer's eve he came
To these our halls, my father's honoured guest,
And seeing me, saw not. If his lips had prest
My lips, but once, in love; his eyes had sent
One love-glance into mine, I had been content,
And deemed it great joy for one little life;
Nor envied other maids the crown of wife:
The long sure years, the merry children-band--
Alas, alas, I never touched his hand!
And now my love is dead that loved not me.
Thrice-blest, thrice-crowned, of gods thrice-lovèd she--
That other, fairer maid, who tombward brings
Her gold, shorn locks and piled-up offerings
Of fragrant fruits, rich wines, and spices rare,
And cakes with honey sweet, with saffron fair;
And who, unchecked by any thought of shame,
May weep her tears, and call upon his name,
With burning bosom prest to the cold ground,
Knowing, indeed, that all her life is crown'd,
Thrice-crowned, thrice honoured, with that love of his;--
No dearer crown on earth is there, I wis.
While yet the sweet life lived, more light to bear
Was my heart's hunger; when the morn was fair,
And I with other maidens in a line
Passed singing through the city to the shrine,
Oft in the streets or crowded market-place
I caught swift glimpses of the dear-known face;
Or marked a stalwart shoulder in the throng;
Or heard stray speeches as we passed along,
In tones more dear to me than any song.
These, hoarded up with care, and kept apart,
Did serve as meat and drink my hungry heart.
And now for ever has my sweet love gone;
And weary, empty days I must drag on,
Till all the days of all my life be sped,
By no thought cheered, by no hope comforted.
For if indeed we meet among the shades,
How shall he know me from the other maids?--
Me, that had died to save his body pain!
Alas, alas, such idle thoughts are vain!
O cruel, cruel sunlight, get thee gone!
O dear, dim shades of eve, come swiftly on!
That when quick lips, keen eyes, are closed in sleep,
Through the long night till dawn I then may weep.
Alas, Love, Alas
And now i'm dismissed
I don't know what the love is
If there always will be tears
And the souls never will find the peace
Why the lovers had became so cruel and insensible
Who can bear all these
Are these the new rules of the love?
Even the love changed it's face
Alas, love, Alas
If the humanity's cruelty
Even changed your face
Nothing in this world will stay the same
Alas, world, Alas
Step back my soul
let's live in peace alone
While the meaning of real love is missed
How the world can be so unreal
Even the love changed it's face
Alas, Love, Alas
If the Humanity's cruelty
Even changed your face
Alas, world, Alas
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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The Pessimist
1 Nothing to do but work,
2 Nothing to eat but food,
3 Nothing to wear but clothes
4 To keep one from going nude.
5 Nothing to breathe but air
6 Quick as a flash 't is gone;
7 Nowhere to fall but off,
8 Nowhere to stand but on.
9 Nothing to comb but hair,
10 Nowhere to sleep but in bed,
11 Nothing to weep but tears,
12 Nothing to bury but dead.
13 Nothing to sing but songs,
14 Ah, well, alas! alack!
15 Nowhere to go but out,
16 Nowhere to come but back.
17 Nothing to see but sights,
18 Nothing to quench but thirst,
19 Nothing to have but what we've got;
20 Thus thro' life we are cursed.
21 Nothing to strike but a gait;
22 Everything moves that goes.
23 Nothing at all but common sense
24 Can ever withstand these woes.
poem by Benjamin Franklin King
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The Saddest Fate
To touch a broken lute,
To strike a jangled string,
To strive with tones forever mute
The dear old tunes to sing--
What sadder fate could any heart befall?
Alas! dear child, never to sing at all.
To sigh for pleasures flown,
To weep for withered flowers,
To count the blessings we have known,
Lost with the vanished hours--
What sadder fate could any heart befall?
Alas! dear child, ne'er to have known them at all.
To dream of love and rest,
To know the dream has past,
To bear within an aching breast
Only a void at last--
What sadder fate could any heart befall?
Alas! dear child, ne'er to have loved at all.
To trust an unknown good,
To hope, but all in vain,
Over a far-off bliss to brood,
Only to find it pain--
What sadder fate could any soul befall?
Alas! dear child, never to hope at all.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Autumnal
THE Autumn leaves are dying quietly,
Scarlet and orange, underfoot they lie;
They had their youth and prime
And now's the dying time;
Alas, alas, the young, the beloved, must die!
They are dying like the leaves of Autumn fast,
Scattered and broken, blown on every blast:
The darling young, the brave,
Love had no power to save.
Poor Love-lies-bleeding, Love's in ruins, downcast.
Alas, alas, the Autumn leaves are flying!
They had their Summer and 'tis time for dying.
But these had barely Spring.
Love trails a broken wing,
Walks through deserted woods, moaning and sighing.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Of Words And Dance...
Do you dance? Will you dance with me for
the rest of our lives?
I shall dance with you, through trouble times.
I shall dance with you in the dark of night.
We shall dance and skate on a rainy day.
We shall skip and dance our worries away.
We will dance with our children, and our friends,
through life.
Dance, yes we will, in laughter or tears.
Dance, on the stage of life, that we live.
Dance, through the hardships and troubles of life.
And will you dance with me, thou I am sad?
For I know that dance, will make me glad.
And when you weep, fear not my love,
I'll dance you to a happy place.
We'll dance among a field of flowers,
as the stars above, become our shower.
And the moon shall smile as it sees us dance,
two in love...twirling a ballet of life.
And do you say, will we tire of our dance? Na,
for with you as my love...life is a ball. Life is a dance
of love and that shall never end
Dance With Me...
Do you dance? Will you dance with me for
the rest of our lives?
I shall dance with you, through trouble times.
I shall dance with you in the dark of night.
We shall dance and skate on a rainy day.
We shall skip and dance our worries away.
We will dance with our children, and our friends,
through life.
Dance, yes we will, in laughter or tears.
Dance, on the stage of life, that we live.
Dance, through the hardships and troubles of life.
And will you dance with me, thou I am sad?
For I know that dance, will make me glad.
And when you weep, fear not my love,
I'll dance you to a happy place.
We'll dance among a field of flowers,
as the stars above, become our shower.
And the moon shall smile as it sees us dance,
two in love...twirling a ballet of life.
And do you say, will we tire of our dance? Na,
for with you as my love...life is a ball. Life is a dance
of love... that shall never end.
Weep Day
I never went to the tropical island
Though everybody said they saw me there
And it wasnt me you punched a hole in
At the west german protest march
Simultaneous events dont happen
We are isolated temporally
And a part is never called the whole thing
Though it bothers us to know its so
Every man is made of two opinions
Every woman has a second half
And its samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man (samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man)
Yes, its samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man (samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man)
I didnt write the words you hear me singing (didnt write the words you hear me singing)
I didnt sing the line before this one (didnt sing the line before this one)
You are not the one I was addressing (you are not the one I was addressing)
That person took a train to africa (africa)
Where he met the consulate from belgium
Who is now a buddhist in a cave
Who is pitching for the oakland raiders
Striking out the batter she became
Every man is made of two opinions
Every woman has a second half
And its samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man (samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man)
Yes, its samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man (samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man)
Yes, its samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man (samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man)
Weep day for urine man (weep day for urine man)
Weep day for urine man (weep day for urine man)
Weep day for urine man (weep day for urine man)
Weep day weep day
Weep day weep day
Weep day weep day
Weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep)
Weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep)
Weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep)
Weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep)
Weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep)
Weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep)
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XX
Enough, dear Paris! We have laughed together,
'Tis time that we should part, lest tears should come.
I must fare on from winter and rough weather
And the dark tempests chained within Time's womb.
Southwards I go. Each footstep marks the tomb
Of a dead pleasure. Melun, Fontainebleau,--
How shall I name them with the ghosts that roam
In their deserted streets of long ago?
I will not stop to weep. Before me lie
Lands larger in their purpose, and with dreams
Peopled more purely; and to these I fly
For ever from life's idler stratagems.
France! thy white hand I kiss in suppliant guise,
Too sad to love thee, and alas! too wise.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Alas! What a wretched life is this!
Alas! What a wretched life is this!
Nay what a death! Where tyrant Love commandeth!
My flow’ring days are in their prime declining,
All my proud hope quite fall’n, and life untwining,
My joys each after other, in haste are flying,
And leave me dying for her that scorns my crying.
Oh she from hence departs, my love refraining,
For whom, all heartless alas! I die complaining.
poem by John Wilbye
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Queen In Love
They all were there, the court was full
The king beside his queen
His love was cold, the fool will dance
for her 'till end of time,
The queen is in love,
The queen is in love.
She couldn't help her burning heart,
And now he's burning too.
Their love was blind,
They will dance until the end of time.
Queen is in love
Queen is in love
The furious king now has learned
He sentenced them to burn.
Forever one,
They are joined in death eternally
Queen is in love
Queen is in love
song performed by by Yngwie Malmsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Queen In Love
They all were there, the court was full
The king beside his queen
His love was cold, the fool will dance
for her 'till end of time,
The queen is in love,
The queen is in love.
She couldn't help her burning heart,
And now he's burning too.
Their love was blind,
They will dance until the end of time.
Queen is in love
Queen is in love
The furious king now has learned
He sentenced them to burn.
Forever one,
They are joined in death eternally
Queen is in love
Queen is in love
song performed by by Yngwie Malmsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Story
They met each other in the glade –
She lifted up her eyes;
Alack the day! Alack the maid!
She blushed in swift surprise.
Alas! Alas! the woe that comes from lifting up the eyes.
The pail was full, the path was steep –
He reached to her his hand;
She felt her warm young pulses leap,
But did not understand.
Alas! Alas! the woe that comes from clasping hand with hand.
She sat beside him in the wood –
He wooed with words and sighs;
Ah! love in spring seems sweet and good,
And maidens are not wise.
Alas! Alas! the woe that comes from listing lovers’ sighs.
The summer sun shone fairly down,
The wind blew from the south;
As his blue eyes gazed in eyes of brown,
His kiss fell on her mouth.
Alas! Alas! the woe that comes from kisses on the mouth.
And now the autumn time is near,
The lover roves away,
With breaking heart and falling tear,
She sits the livelong day.
Alas! Alas! for breaking hearts when lovers rove away.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Departure
So long old friend,
It has been fun
But my work here is done.
To watch you grow
And get to know
The man you have become.
Wherever you walk
And whenever you talk
Part of me is there.
And wherever I go
You too should know
That a part of you I share.
The part of you that made me laugh
Through all the memories we have.
The things that made us mad
The pain that made us cry
Yet, alas, old friend
It is time for me to say goodbye.
Now, we part in separate ways
And with others spend our latter days.
Still in your wealthy memory
Let others see that part of me;
The part of me you'll always have,
The part of me that made you laugh.
Fate has made us one somehow,
It is she who separates us now.
In time you'll see, much of you is me
Our friendship thus was true
And before I go, the world will know
How much of me is you.
poem by Dipti Date Gokhale
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Life
WE are born; we laugh; we weep;
We love; we droop; we die!
Ah! wherefore do we laugh or weep?
Why do we live, or die?
Who knows that secret deep?
Alas, not I!
Why doth the violet spring
Unseen by human eye?
Why do the radiant seasons bring
Sweet thoughts that quickly fly?
Why do our fond hearts cling
To things that die?
We toil,—through pain and wrong;
We fight,—and fly;
We love; we lose; and then, ere long,
Stone-dead we lie.
O life! is all thy song
“Endure and—die”?
poem by Barry Cornwall
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