On An Ugly Fellow (From The Greek)
Beware, my friend! of crystal brook,
Or fountain, lest that hideous hook,
Thy nose, thou chance to see;
Narcissus' fate would then be thine,
And self-detested thou wouldst pine,
As self-enamour'd he.
poem by William Cowper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Thou Swell
Thou swell, thou witty, thou sweet, thou grand
Wouldst kiss me pretty? Wouldst hold my hand?
Both thine eyes are cute too, what they do to me
Hear me holler, I choose a sweet lollapaloosa in thee
I'd feel so rich in a hut for two
Two rooms and kitchen I'm sure would do
Give me just a plot of, not a lot of land
And thou swell, thou witty, thou grand
song performed by by Natalie Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Thou Swell
Thou swell, thou witty, thou sweet, thou grand
Wouldst kiss me pretty? wouldst hold my hand?
Both thine eyes are cute too, what they do to me
Hear me holler, I choose a sweet lollapaloosa in thee
Id feel so rich in a hut for two
Two rooms and kitchen Im sure would do
Give me just a plot of, not a lot of land
And thou swell, thou witty, thou grand
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Key
Wouldst thou know thyself, observe the actions of others.
Wouldst thou other men know, look thou within thine own heart.
poem by Friedrich Schiller
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Emily Bronte
'Du hast Diamanten'
Thou hadst all Passion's splendor,
Thou hadst abounding store
Of heaven's eternal jewels,
Beloved; what wouldst thou more?
Thine was the frolic freedom
Of creatures coy and wild,
The melancholy of wisdom,
The innocence of a child,
The maiPd will of the warrior,
That buckled in thy breast
Humility as of Francis,
The Self-surrender of Christ;
And of God's cup thou drankest
The unmingled wine of Love,
Which makes poor mortals giddy
When they but sip thereof.
What was't to thee thy pathway
So rugged mean and hard,
Whereon when Death surprised thee
Thou gavest him no regard?
What was't to thee, enamour'd
As a red rose of the sun,
If of thy myriad lovers
Thou never sawest one?
Nor if of all thy lovers
That are and were to be
None ever had their vision,
O my belov'd, of thee,
Until thy silent glory
Went forth from earth alone,
Where like a star thou gleamest
From thine immortal throne.
poem by Robert Seymour Bridges
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Peculiar Ideal
What thou thinkest, belongs to all; what thou feelest, is thine only.
Wouldst thou make him thine own, feel thou the God whom thou thinkest!
poem by Friedrich Schiller
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Thou Swell
(words by lorenz hart, music by richard rodgers)
This lyrics are like performed by natalie cole
Thou swell, thou witty, thou sweet, thou grand
Wouldst kiss me pretty? wouldst hold my hand?
Both thine eyes are cute too, what they do to me
Hear me holler, I choose a sweet lollapaloosa in thee
Id feel so rich in a hut for two
Two rooms and kitchen Im sure would do
Give me just a plot of, not a lot of land
And thou swell, thou witty, thou grand
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Sakontala
WOULDST thou the blossoms of spring, as well as the fruits of the autumn,
Wouldst thou what charms and delights, wouldst thou what plenteously, feeds,
Would thou include both Heaven and earth in one designation,
All that is needed is done, when I Sakontala name.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Night Song
WHEN on thy pillow lying,
Half listen, I implore,
And at my lute's soft sighing,
Sleep on! what wouldst thou more?
For at my lute's soft sighing
The stars their blessings pour
On feelings never-dying;
Sleep on! what wouldst thou more?
Those feelings never-dying
My spirit aid to soar
From earthly conflicts trying;
Sleep on! what wouldst thou more?
From earthly conflicts trying
Thou driv'st me to this shore;
Through thee I'm thither flying,--
Sleep on! what wouldst thou more?
Through thee I'm hither flying,
Thou wilt not list before
In slumbers thou art lying:
Sleep on! what wouldst thou more?
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Mary
If I had thought thou couldst have died,
I might not weep for thee;
But I forgot, when by thy side,
That thou couldst mortal be:
It never through my mind had past
The time would e'er be o'er,
And I on thee should look my last,
And thou shouldst smile no more!
And still upon that face I look,
And think 'twill smile again;
And still the thought I will not brook,
That I must look in vain.
But when I speak—thou dost not say
What thou ne'er left'st unsaid;
And now I feel, as well I may,
Sweet Mary, thou art dead!
If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art,
All cold and all serene—
I still might press thy silent heart,
And where thy smiles have been.
While e'en thy chill, bleak corse I have,
Thou seemest still mine own;
But there—I lay thee in thy grave,
And I am now alone!
I do not think, where'er thou art,
Thou hast forgotten me;
And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart
In thinking too of thee:
Yet there was round thee such a dawn
Of light ne'er seen before,
As fancy never could have drawn,
And never can restore!
poem by Charles Wolfe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In Maximum
WOULDST thou be free? I think it not, indeed;
But if thou wouldst, attend this simple rede:
When quite contented }thou canst dine at home
Thou shall be free when }
And drink a small wine of the march of Rome;
When thou canst see unmoved thy neighbour's plate,
And wear my threadbare toga in the gate;
When thou hast learned to love a small abode,
And not to choose a mistress A LA MODE:
When thus contained and bridled thou shalt be,
Then, Maximus, then first shalt thou be free.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Boy And The Brook. (Armenian Popular Song, From The Prose Version Of Alishan)
Down from yon distant mountain height
The brooklet flows through the village street;
A boy comes forth to wash his hands,
Washing, yes washing, there he stands,
In the water cool and sweet.
Brook, from what mountain dost thou come,
O my brooklet cool and sweet!
I come from yon mountain high and cold,
Where lieth the new snow on the old,
And melts in the summer heat.
Brook, to what river dost thou go?
O my brooklet cool and sweet!
I go to the river there below
Where in bunches the violets grow,
And sun and shadow meet.
Brook, to what garden dost thou go?
O my brooklet cool and sweet!
I go to the garden in the vale
Where all night long the nightingale
Her love-song doth repeat.
Brook, to what fountain dost thou go?
O my brooklet cool and sweet!
I go to the fountain at whose brink
The maid that loves thee comes to drink,
And whenever she looks therein,
I rise to meet her, and kiss her chin,
And my joy is then complete.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Tempted Soul
Weak soul, by sense still led astray,
Why wilt thou parley with the foe?
He seeks to work thine overthrow,
And thou, poor fool! dost point the way.
Hast thou forgotten many a day,
When thou exulting forth didst go,
And ere the noon wert lying low,
A broken and defenceless prey?
If thou wouldst live, avoid his face;
Dwell in the wilderness apart,
And gather force for vanquishing,
Ere thou returnest to his place.
Then arm, and with undaunted heart
Give battle, till he own thee king.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Neither This Nor That
IF thou to be a slave shouldst will,
Thou'lt get no pity, but fare ill;
And if a master thou wouldst be,
The world will view it angrily;
And if in status quo thou stay,
That thou art but a fool, they'll say.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Version Of A Fragment Of Simonides
The night winds howled--the billows dashed
Against the tossing chest;
And Danae to her broken heart
Her slumbering infant pressed.
'My little child'--in tears she said--
'To wake and weep is mine,
But thou canst sleep--thou dost not know
Thy mother's lot, and thine.
'The moon is up, the moonbeams smile--
They tremble on the main;
But dark, within my floating cell,
To me they smile in vain.
'Thy folded mantle wraps thee warm,
Thy clustering locks are dry,
Thou dost not hear the shrieking gust,
Nor breakers booming high.
'As o'er thy sweet unconscious face
A mournful watch I keep,
I think, didst thou but know thy fate,
How thou wouldst also weep.
'Yet, dear one, sleep, and sleep, ye winds
That vex the restless brine--
When shall these eyes, my babe, be sealed
As peacefully as thine!'
poem by William Cullen Bryant
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet- the Physician’s Greatness
O Physician, thou art really great!
Remarkable is thine intelligence;
Adeptly, thou changeth the illness’ fate;
Extra-perceiving man with common sense!
With naked eyes, thou mak’th right diagnosis;
The masses benefit by thine prowess;
Endowed by God with intuition’s largess,
Thou cans’t yet blindly give the prognosis.
The man with knife believes only when seen;
The man with ’scope, magnifies and believes;
The x-ray man sees patients through eyes keen;
Thou man with Steth, by ear and touch perceives.
Thou art the greatest specialist on earth!
Alas! thine number is seeing its dearth.
dedicated to the API (Association of Physicians of India) by Dr John Celes
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
From The Spanish Of Pedro De Castro Y Anaya
Stay, rivulet, nor haste to leave
The lovely vale that lies around thee.
Why wouldst thou be a sea at eve,
When but a fount the morning found thee?
Born when the skies began to glow,
Humblest of all the rock's cold daughters,
No blossom bowed its stalk to show
Where stole thy still and scanty waters.
Now on thy stream the noonbeams look,
Usurping, as thou downward driftest,
Its crystal from the clearest brook,
Its rushing current from the swiftest.
Ah! what wild haste!--and all to be
A river and expire in ocean.
Each fountain's tribute hurries thee
To that vast grave with quicker motion.
Far better 'twere to linger still
In this green vale, these flowers to cherish,
And die in peace, an aged rill,
Than thus, a youthful Danube, perish.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lover In All Shapes
To be like a fish,
Brisk and quick, is my wish;
If thou cam'st with thy line.
Thou wouldst soon make me thine.
To be like a fish,
Brisk and quick, is my wish.
Oh, were I a steed!
Thou wouldst love me indeed.
Oh, were I a car
Fit to bear thee afar!
Oh, were I a steed!
Thou wouldst love me indeed.
I would I were gold
That thy fingers might hold!
If thou boughtest aught then,
I'd return soon again.
I would I were gold
That thy fingers might hold!
I would I were true,
And my sweetheart still new!
To be faithful I'd swear,
And would go away ne'er.
I would I were true,
And my sweetheart still new!
I would I were old,
And wrinkled and cold,
So that if thou said'st No,
I could stand such a blow!
I would I were old,
And wrinkled and cold.
An ape I would be,
Full of mischievous glee;
If aught came to vex thee,
I'd plague and perplex thee.
An ape I would be,
Full of mischievous glee
As a lamb I'd behave,
As a lion be brave,
As a lynx clearly see,
As a fox cunning be.
As a lamb I'd behave,
As a lion be brave.
Whatever I were,
All on thee I'd confer;
With the gifts of a prince
My affection evince.
Whatever I were,
All on thee I'd confer.
As nought diff'rent can make me,
As I am thou must take me!
If I'm not good enough,
Thou must cut thine own stuff.
As nought diff'rent can make me,
As I am thou must take me!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sans Merci
Wouldst thou then I should depart.
A hollow man without a heart,
a victim of thy cruelty.
Hast thou non, e no trace of pity.
They beauty doth ensnare young men.
Thou toyest with them heartlessly
The bored, thou bidst them forth again.
A maiden lacking all pity.
Thy turn will come and thou wilt lose
thy heart in turn to some young man,
thy beauty’s lure he will refuse.
Thou art surprised because he can
Hoist upon thine own petard
methinks it is thy just reward
(poeticpiers/31-May-07)
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Elegy XIII. To a Friend, On Some Slight Occasion Estranged From Him
Health to my friend, and many a cheerful day!
Around his seat may peaceful shades abide!
Smooth flow the minutes, fraught with smiles, away,
And, till they crown our union, gently glide!
Ah me! too swiftly fleets our vernal bloom!
Lost to our wonted friendship, lost to joy!
Soon may thy breast the cordial wish resume,
Ere wintry doubt its tender warmth destroy!
Say, were it ours, by Fortune's wild command,
By chance to meet beneath the Torrid Zone,
Wouldst thou reject thy Damon's plighted hand?
Wouldst thou with scorn thy once loved friend disown?
Life is that stranger land, that alien clime;
Shall kindred souls forego their social claim?
Launch'd in the vast abyss of space and time,
Shall dark suspicion quench the generous flame?
Myriads of souls, that knew one parent mould,
See sadly sever'd by the laws of Chance!
Myriads, in Time's perennial list enroll'd,
Forbid by Fate to change one transient glance!
But we have met-where ills of every form,
Where passions rage, and hurricanes descend;
Say, shall we nurse the rage, assist the storm,
And guide them to the bosom-of a friend?
Yes, we have met-through rapine, fraud, and wrong:
Might our joint aid the paths of peace explore!
Why leave thy friend amid the boisterous throng,
Ere death divide us, and we part no more?
For, oh! pale Sickness warns thy friend away;
For me no more the vernal roses bloom!
I see stern Fate his ebon wand display,
And point the wither'd regions of the tomb.
Then the keen anguish from thine eye shall start,
Sad as thou followest my untimely bier;
'Fool that I was-if friends so soon must part,
To let suspicion intermix a fear.'
poem by William Shenstone
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fairest Maid on Devon Banks
Fairest maid on Devon banks,
Crystal Devon, winding Devon,
Wilt thou lay that frown aside,
And smile as thou were wont to do?
Full well thou know’st I love thee, dear!
Could’st thou to malice lend an ear!
O! did not love exclaim “Forbear,
Nor use a faithful lover so.”
Then come, thou fairest of the fair,
Those wonted smiles, O let me share;
And by thy beauteous self I swear,
No love but thine my heart shall know.
Fairest maid on Devon banks,
Crystal Devon, winding Devon,
Wilt thou lay that frown aside,
And smile as thou were wont to do?
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!