Human Frailty
Weak and irresolute is man;
The purpose of to-day,
Woven with pains into his plan,
To-morrow rends away.
The bow well bent, and smart the spring,
Vice seems already slain;
But passion rudely snaps the string,
And it revives again.
Some foe to his upright intent
Finds out his weaker part;
Virtue engages his assent,
But Pleasure wins his heart.
‘Tis here the folly of the wise
Through all his art we view;
And, while his tongue the charge denies,
His conscience owns it true.
Bound on a voyage of awful length
And dangers little known,
A stranger to superior strength,
Man vainly trusts his own.
But oars alone can ne’er prevail
To reach the distant coast;
The breath of Heaven must swell the sail,
Or all the toil is lost.
poem by William Cowper
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Hope, Like The Short-lived Ray That Gleams Awhile
Hope, like the short-lived ray that gleams awhile
Through wintry skies, upon the frozen waste,
Cheers e'en the face of misery to a smile;
But soon the momentary pleasure's past.
How oft, my Delia, since our last farewell,
(Years that have rolled since that distressful hour),
Grieved I have said, when most our hopes prevail,
Our promised happiness is least secure.
Oft I have thought the scene of troubles closed,
And hoped once more to gaze upon your charms;
As oft some dire mischance has interposed,
And snatched the expected blessing from my arms.
The seaman thus, his shattered vessel lost,
Still vainly strives to shun the threatening death;
And while he thinks to gain the friendly coast,
And drops his feet, and feels the sands beneath,
Borne by the wave steep-sloping from the shore,
Back to the inclement deep, again he beats
The surge aside, and seems to treat secure;
And now the refluent wave his baffled toil defeats.
Had you, my love, forbade me to pursue
My fond attempt, disdainfully retired,
And with proud scorn compelled me to subdue
The ill-fated passion by yourself inspired;
Then haply to some distant spot removed,
Hopeless to gain, unwilling to molest
With fond entreaties whom I dearly loved,
Despair or absense had redeemed my rest.
But now, sole partner in my Delia's heart,
Yet doomed far off in exile to complain,
Eternal absence cannot ease my smart,
And hope subsists but to prolong my pain.
Oh, then, kind Heaven, be this my latest breath!
Here end my life, or make it worth my care;
Absence from whom we love is worse than death,
And frustrate hope severer than dismay.
poem by William Cowper
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For You Two
There’s a plan for you two which includes so much more.
Happiness will flow your way as do waves to the shore.
You two will set sail, yet travel as one
In love’s ship of miracles toward the setting sun.
Your promise to each other is strength enough
To conquer any storm no matter how rough.
Each time you enter new waters and exciting ports
Your union will grow stronger and deal with any sorts.
Take heart as your ship of miracles readies to set sail,
Knowing that together unending love will prevail.
Your voyage toward the sunset was always meant to be;
As certain as the horizon marries the heavens to the sea.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Oh For A Day Of Spring
Oh for a day of Spring,
A day of flowers and folly,
Of birds that pipe and sing
And boyhood's melancholy!
I would not grudge the laughter,
The tears that followed after.
Oh for a day of youth,
A day of strength and passion,
Of words that told the truth
And deeds the truth would fashion!
I would not leave untasted
One glory while it lasted.
Oh for a day of days,
A day with you and pleasure,
Of love in all its ways
And life in all its measure!
Win me that day from sorrow,
And let me die to--morrow.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Somebody Remembers The Rose
Somebody remembers the rose
While the other forgets how it grows
Would all the dangers
Would all the dangers of love
Lost to a stranger
Somebody remembers the dress
How it was hand sewn
Beautifully pressed
Would all the dangers
Would all the dangers of love
Lost to a stranger
Honey Im out of service
For a while
Damaged hearts been manufactured
And everyday this one never works anyway
Somebody remembers the rose
While the other forgets how it grows
Would all the dangers
Would all the dangers of love
Lost to a stranger
Honey I know you
Baby I know you
Yeah I know you
song performed by by Whiskeytown
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spring-ripple of green along the way
Spring-ripple of green along the way,
keen plash of aery waves that play,
and in my heart
thy dreamy smart, O distant day!
Oh whisper hidden in the spring
of days when soul and song took wing
beneath her eyes,
twin smiling skies bent listening.
Oh cruel spell the season weaves!
heart-piercing smell of smoky eves,
all, all is old!
ironic gold that but deceives!
Strange spring, wilt only make me mourn?
Ah, for thy grace is overworn!
we are the ghost
of spring-tides lost and singing morn!
poem by Christopher John Brennan
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Keep The Intent Of Your Purpose
Although there seems to be,
A slowing done of your focused flow...
Keep the intent of your purpose.
Don't let that motivation go.
Stay true to yourself,
Knowing your beliefs do not deceive.
Keep the intent of your purpose.
Do not let that purpose leave.
It is difficult enough,
To constantly be bombarded...
From those events,
That fuss things up.
It's enough to want to cuss,
Everything believed to be corrupt.
But that 'outside' stuff that is happening...
Has a meaning that should awaken all of us.
Although there seems to be,
A slowing done of your focused flow...
Keep the intent of your purpose.
Don't let that motivation go.
Stay true to yourself,
Knowing your beliefs do not deceive.
Keep the intent of your purpose.
Do not let that purpose leave.
Each day collect pieces,
Of your sanity.
Keep the intent of your purpose.
Be gentle and easily allow yourself to breathe.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Distant Smile
Sunrise, Sunset,
Warm night, regrets.
Summer night dream,
What dream may come?
Life, lies, crime,
live your life the same.
Your destiny will prevail,
From nowhere a distant smile.
Lost love, lost war, life in slow motions,
Lust, attractions, deep night of passion.
Still your destiny will prevail,
From nowhere a distant smile.
Togheter, two soul in this dull begin,
fire on us, but in this holy night will win.
but still your destiny will prevail,
From nowhere a distant smile.
The deep blue see on this horizon,
Will bring to us high terrifying tides,
I can see on the way the perfect wave to ride,
I can see come to us, is a bit far, maybe just a mile,
And from nowhere will appear a distant smile.
poem by Gianni Pintus
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Lux Perdita
Thine were the weak, slight hands
That might have taken this strong soul, and bent
Its stubborn substance to thy soft intent,
And bound it unresisting, with such bands
As not the arm of envious heaven had rent.
Thine were the calming eyes
That round my pinnace could have stilled the sea,
And drawn thy voyager home, and bid him be
Pure with their pureness, with their wisdom wise,
Merged in their light, and greatly lost in thee.
But thou-thou passed'st on,
With whiteness clothed of dedicated days,
Cold, like a star; and me in alien ways
Thou leftest following life's chance lure, where shone
The wandering gleam that beckons and betrays.
poem by William Watson
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Scene 1. A Castle in Normandy
Hugo.
Well, boy, what is it?
Henry.
The feast is spread.
Hugo.
Why tarry the guests for me?
Let Eric sit at the table's head;
Alone I desire to be.
[Henry goes out.]
What share have I at their festive board?
Their mirth I can only mar;
To me no pleasure their cups afford,
Their songs on my silence jar.
With an aching eye and a throbbing brain,
And yet with a hopeful heart,
I must toil and strain with the planets again
When the rays of the sun depart;
He who must needs with the topers tope,
And the feasters feast in the hall,
How can he hope with a matter to cope
That is immaterial?
Orion.
He who his appetite stints and curbs,
Shut up in the northern wing,
With his rye-bread flavoured with bitter herbs,
And his draught from the tasteless spring,
Good sooth, he is but a sorry clown.
There are some good things upon earth-
Pleasure and power and fair renown,
And wisdom of worldly worth!
There is wisdom in follies that charm the sense,
In follies that light the eyes,
But the folly to wisdom that makes pretence
Is alone by the fool termed wise.
Hugo.
Thy speech, Orion, is somewhat rude;
Perchance, having jeer'd and scoff'd
To thy fill, thou wilt curb thy jeering mood;
I wot thou hast served me oft.
This plan of the skies seems fairly traced;
What errors canst thou detect?
Orion.
Nay, the constellations are misplaced,
And the satellites incorrect;
Leave the plan to me; you have time to seek
An hour of needful rest,
The night is young and the planets are weak;
See, the sun still reddens the west.
Hugo.
I fear I shall sleep too long.
Orion.
If you do
It matters not much; the sky
Is cloudy, the stars will be faint and few;
Now, list to my lullaby.
[Hugo reclines on a couch.]
(Sings.)
Still the darkling skies are red,
Though the day-god's course is run;
Heavenly night-lamps overhead
Flash and twinkle one by one.
Idle dreamer-earth-born elf!
Vainly grasping heavenly things,
Wherefore weariest thou thyself
With thy vain imaginings?
From the tree of knowledge first,
Since his parents pluck'd the fruit,
Man, with partial knowledge curs'd,
Of the tree still seeks the root;
Musty volumes crowd thy shelf
Which of these true knowledge brings?
Wherefore weariest thou thyself
With thy vain imaginings?
Will the stars from heaven descend?
Can the earth-worm soar and rise?
Can the mortal comprehend
Heaven's own hallow'd mysteries?
Greed and glory, power and pelf
These are won by clowns and kings;
Wherefore weariest thou thyself
With thy vain imaginings?
Sow and reap, and toil and spin;
Eat and drink, and dream and die;
Man may strive, yet never win,
And I laugh the while and cry
Idle dreamer, earth-born elf!
Vainly grasping heavenly things,
Wherefore weariest thou thyself
With thy vain imaginings?
He sleeps, and his sleep appears serene,
Whatever dreams it has brought him
[Looks at the plans.]
If he knows what those hieroglyphics mean,
He's wiser than one who taught him.
Why does he number the Pole-star thus?
Or the Pleiades why combine?
And what is he doing with Sirius,
In the devil's name or in mine?
Man thinks, discarding the beaten track,
That the sins of his youth are slain,
When he seeks fresh sins, but he soon comes back
To his old pet sins again.
poem by Adam Lindsay Gordon
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Will Kiss You First
when your breath stinks of wars,
and your eyes bleed with rage...
when your tongue is a stranger
that your heart denies...
when your feet sink in the sand,
and your hands tremble with lust....
do you think that death
will kiss you first?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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My Funny Valentine
Behold the way our fine feathered friend,
His virtue doth parade
Thou knowest not, my dim-witted friend
The picture thou hast made
Thy vacant brow, and thy tousled hair
Conceal thy good intent
Thou noble upright truthful sincere,
And slightly dopey gent
Youre my funny valentine,
Sweet comic valentine,
You make me smile with my heart.
Your looks are laughable, un-photographable,
Yet, youre my favorite work of art.
Is your figure less than greek?
Is your mouth a little weak?
When you open it to speak, are you smart?
But, dont change a hair for me.
Not if you care for me.
Stay little valentine, stay!
Each day is valentines day
Is your figure less than greek?
Is your mouth a little weak?
When you open it to speak, are you smart?
But, dont change a hair for me.
Not if you care for me.
Stay little valentine, stay!
Each day is valentines day
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wise Up
Got myself in this situation,
Im not sure about.
Climbing in where theres temptation,
Can I get back out?
I never can quite find the answer,
The one I want to hear.
The one that justifies my action
Says the coast is clear.
Something on the outside
Says to jump on in,
But something on the inside
Is telling me again,
Chorus:
Better wise up.
Better think twice.
Never leave room for compromise.
You better wise up.
Better get smart.
And use your head to guard your heart.
Its gonna get rough,
So you better wise up.
Take a look at your intentions,
When you have to choose.
Could it be that apprehension,
Might be telling you,
To back off now is better,
So take your heart and run.
But get your thoughts together,
Before they come undone.
(repeat chorus)
(you got to wise up.
You got to think twice.
You got to wise up.
You got to. you got to.)
To back off now is better,
So take your heart and run.
But get your thoughts together,
Before they come undone.
(repeat chorus)
So you better wise up.
Better think twice.
And never leave room for compromise.
Oh, you better wise up.
Better get smart.
And use your head to guard your heart.
Its gonna get rough,
So you better wise up.
(you got to wise up.
You got to think twice. (hohhhh!)
You got to wise up. (oh, yeah!)
You got to. you got to.)
So you better wise up, now....
(you got to wise up.
You got to think twice. (better wise up, yall!)
You got to wise up.
You got to. you got to. (oh, yeah!))
(you got to wise up.
You got to think twice. (better...)
You got to wise up. (oh, you better wise up, now....)
You got to. you got to. (ohhhhh, yeah!!!))
(you got to wise up. (hoo! hoo, hoo, hoo, hoooooooo-hoo!!)
You got to think twice.
You got to wise up.
You got to. you got to. (oh, got to show yo, yeah!))
(you got to wise up.
You got to think twice. (hoaa!! oowwwww!!!)
You got to wise up.
You got to. you got to.)
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Essence of essence is the birth of the weaker sex
Essence of essence is the birth of the weaker sex,
For her strength alone can please the mighty hero!
What's the use of this manliness, friend,
When it is of no use to the lord at all?
Essence of essence is the birth of the weaker sex!
A man might attain the ultimate release,
If he sticks to the path of virtue,
But to indulge in the scrumptious joys of pretended anger
And the lord pleading to make up and other such games,
You simply have to be a woman!
Essence of essence is the birth of the weaker sex!
For her strength can please the mighty hero!
Even the gods like Indra and the great sages
Revere the very dust of gopis' feet,
Considering themselves lesser than the gopis
As they find their manhood insipid!
Essence of essence the birth of the weaker sex,
For her strength can please the mighty hero!
Woman, the treasure trove of fortune
Experiences and enjoys all day and night
The very nectar, the Vedas and the Scriptures
Struggle to express!
Essence of essence is the birth of the weaker sex!
Let my dreams come true
My dark one, my lifter of the mountain, life of my life!
For just like the master dragging the meek beast
The leash of love draws Narsinh!
Essence of essence is the birth of the weaker sex,
For her strength can please the mighty hero!
poem by Narsinh Mehta
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A Stranger In The Night
Key of d
(d) Im lonesome for someone, to (g) kiss me good - (d) night,
Just the way you used to (a7) do,
My (d) achin heart needs someone, to (g) shine loves (d) light,
For without you, Ill (a7) always be (d) blue.
1st chorus
(d) if I (g) dont have you, to (d) help me along,
I (g) know I can never go (d) right,
With - (g) out you beside me, to (d) show me the way,
Im lost, like a (a7) stranger in the (d) night.
Like a lonely dove that flies, from pine to pine,
My heart cant be gay and light,
Like sightless eyes, that will never see the sun,
Im lost, like a stranger in the night.
2nd chorus
Theres no need for me, to even try,
Nothin will turn out right,
When I lost your love, I lost the will to live,
And Im lost, like a stranger in the night
3rd chorus
Like a broken heart, thats lost on lifes sea,
Tho I pray with all my might,
I know I cant face, to - morrow alone,
And Im lost, like a stranger in the night.
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stranger In The Wind...
Stranger in the wind...
Beckons at my door.
Stanger in the wind...
Wanting even more.
Stranger in the wind...
Hard to really ignore.
Stranger in the wind..
Making my heart ache, as sore.
Stranger in the wind...
Rapping at my door.
Stanger in the wind...
Who knows i am so poor.
Stranger in the wind...
My time here-has me bore...
Many aches and pains of a thirsting heart...
Can only be quenched by ye, your remembered part.
Stranger in the wind...
My heart, you'll win.
Stranger in the wind...
Yon soul so deep.
Stranger in the wind...
My heart you'll keep.
Stranger in the wind...
my soul you'll reap.
Stranger in the wind...
You make me weep.
poem by Michael Gale
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Mustapha
Oh, wearisome condition of humanity,
Born under one law, to another bound;
Vainly begot, and yet forbidden vanity,
Created sick, commanded to be sound.
What meaneth nature by these diverse laws?
Passion and reason self-division cause.
It is the mark or majesty of power
To make offences that it may forgive;
Nature herself doth her own self deflower,
To hate those errors she herself doth give.
For how should man think that he may not do,
If nature did not fail and punish too?
Tyrant to others, to herself unjust,
Only commands things difficult and hard,
Forbids us all things which it knows is lust,
Makes easy pains, unpossible reward.
If nature did not take delight in blood,
She would have made more easy ways to good.
We that are bound by vows and by promotion,
With pomp of holy sacrifice and rites,
To teach belief in good and still devotion,
To preach of heaven's wonders and delights:
Yet when each of us in his own heart looks
He finds the God there far unlike his books.
poem by Lord Brooke Fulke Greville
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The Sold
I'll to the dance! what boots it thus,
To brood o'er ills I cannot quell?
Amid the revel shout of mirth,
My bitter laugh shall mingle well.
I've toil'd beside my mates to-day,
To-night we'll join in seeming glee;
But when we part, with morning's light,
For aye, that parting glance will be.
I will not go!—this fire within,
Would choke me with its smother'd flames!
How could I tell the dear ones there,
Of that detested tyrant's claims?
I could endure the fetter's weight,
That I have borne with them so long,—
But not to wear a stranger's chain,
And crouch beneath a stranger's thong.
Yet this must be my morrow's fate!
To part with all that gave my doom,
Dark as it was and desolate,
A ray of light amidst its gloom.
To bear the scourge, to wear the chain,
To toil with wearied heart and limb,
Till death should end my lengthen'd pain,
Or worn old age my senses dim:—
This have I borne, and look'd to bear,
All bitter as such lot must be;
But drearier still my life must wear,
Beneath a stranger's tyranny.
Alas! 't would be a happier lot,
If, ere to-morrow's doom shall come,
My woes and wrongs were all forgot,
Amid the darkness of the tomb.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Barcarolle
The stars are dimly seen among the shadows of the bay,
And lights that win are seen in strife with lights that die away.
The wave is very still -- the rudder loosens in our hand,
The zephyr will not fill our sail and waft us to the land;
O precious is the pause between the winds that come and go,
And sweet the silence of the shores between the ebb and flow.
No sound but sound of rest is on the bosom of the deep,
Soft as the breathing of a breast serenly hushed with sleep:
Lay by the ear; there is a voice at heart to sing or sigh --
O what shall be the choice of barcarolle or lullaby?
Say shall we sing of day or night, fair land or mighty ocean,
Of any rapturous delight or any dear emotion,
Of any joy that is on earth, or hope that is above--
The holy country of our birth, or any song of love?
Our heart in all our life is like the hand of one who steers
A bark upon an ocean rife with dangers and with fears;
The joys, the hopes, like waves or wings, bear up this life of ours --
Short as a song of all these things that make up all its hours.
Spread sail! For it is Hope today that like a wind new-risen
Doth waft us on a golden wing towards a new horizon,
That is the sun before our sight, the beacon for us burning,
That is the star in all our night of watching and of yearning.
Love is this thing that we pursue today, tonight, for ever,
We care not whither, know not who shall be at length the giver:
For Love, -- our life and all our years are cast upon the waves;
Our heart is as the hand that steers; -- but who is He that saves?
We ply with oars, we strive with every sail upon our mast --
We never tire, never fail -- and Love is seen at last:
A low and purple mirage like a coast where day is breaking --
Sink sail! for such a dream of Love is lost before the waking.
poem by Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy
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Three Palinodias - 02 Conflict Of Wit And Beauty
SIR Wit, who is so much esteem'd,
And who is worthy of all honour,
Saw Beauty his superior deem'd
By folks who loved to gaze upon her;
At this he was most sorely vex'd.
Then came Sir Breath (long known as fit
To represent the cause of wit),
Beginning, rudely, I admit,
To treat the lady with a text.
To this she hearken'd not at all,
But hasten'd to his principal:
"None are so wise, they say, as you,--
Is not the world enough for two?
If you are obstinate, good-bye!
If wise, to love me you will try,
For be assured the world can ne'er
Give birth to a more handsome pair."
=
FAIR daughters were by Beauty rear'd,
Wit had but dull sons for his lot;
So for a season it appear'd
Beauty was constant, Wit was not.
But Wit's a native of the soil,
So he return'd, work'd, strove amain,
And found--sweet guerdon for his toil!--
Beauty to quicken him again.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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An English Peasant
To pomp and pageantry in nought allied,
A noble peasant, Isaac Ashford, died.
Noble he was, contemning all things mean,
His truth unquestion'd, and his soul serene:
Of no man's presence Isaac felt afraid,
At no man's question Isaac look'd dismay'd;
Shame knew him not, he dreaded no disgrace;
Truth, simple truth, was written in his face;
Yet while the serious thought his soul approved,
Cheerful he seem'd, and gentleness he loved:
To bliss domestic he his heart resign'd,
And, with the firmest, had the fondest mind:
Were others joyful, he looked smiling on,
And have allowance where he needed none;
Good he refused with future ill to buy,
Nor knew a joy that caused reflection's sigh;
A friend to virtue, his unclouded breast
No envy stung, no jealousy distressed;
(Bane of the poor! it wounds their weaker mind,
To miss one favour which their neighbours find):
Yet far was he from stoic pride removed;
He felt humanely, and he warmly loved:
I mark'd his action when his infant died,
And his old neighbour for offence was tried;
The still tears, stealing down that furrow'd cheek,
Spoke pity plainer than the tongue can speak.
If pride were his, 'twas not their vulgar pride,
Who, in their base contempt, the great deride:
Nor pride in learning, though my clerk agreed,
If fate should call him, Ashford might succeed;
Nor pride in rustic skill, although we know
None his superior, and his equals few;
But if that spirit in his soul had place,
It was the jealous pride that shuns disgrace;
A pride in honest fame, by virtue gain'd,
In sturdy boys to virtuous labours train'd;
Pride in the power that guards his country's coast,
And all that Englishmen enjoy and boast;
Pride, in a life that slander's tongue defied,
In fact, a noble passion, a misnamed pride.
I feel his absense in the hours of prayer,
And view his seat, and sigh for Isaac there;
I see no more those white locks thinly spread
Round the bald polish of that honour'd head;
No more that awful glance on playful wight,
Compell'd to kneel, and tremble at the sight,
To fold his fingers all in dread the while,
Till Master Ashford soften'd to a smile;
No more that meek and suppliant look in prayer,
Nor the pure faith, (to give it force,) are there;
But he is bless'd, and I lament no more,
A wise good man, contented to be poor.
poem by George Crabbe
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