The Old Scotish Cavalier
I.
Come listen to another song,
Should make your heart beat high,
Bring crimson to your forehead,
And the lustre to your eye;-
It is a song of olden time,
Of days long since gone by,
And of a Baron stout and bold
As e'er wore sword on thigh!
Like a brave old Scottish cavalier,
All of the olden time!
II.
He kept his castle in the north,
Hard by the thundering Spey;
And a thousand vassals dwelt around
All of his kindred they.
And not a man of all that clan
Had ever ceased to pray
For the Royal race they loved so well,
Though exiled far away
From the steadfast Scottish cavaliers,
All of the olden time!
III.
His father drew the righteous sword
For Scotland and her claims,
Among the loyal gentlemen
And chiefs of ancient names
Who swore to fight or fall beneath
The standard of King James,
And died at Killiecrankie pass
With the glory of the Graemes;
Like a true old Scottish cavalier,
All of the olden time!
IV.
He never owned the foreign rule,
No master he obeyed,
But kept his clan in peace at home,
From foray and from raid;
And when they asked him for his oath,
He touched his glittering blade,
And pointed to his bonnet blue,
That bore the white cockade:
Like a leal old Scottish cavalier,
All of the olden time!
V.
At length the news ran through the land-
THE PRINCE had come again!
That night the fiery cross was sped
O'er mountain and through glen;
And our old Baron rose in might,
Like a lion from his den,
And rode away across the hills
To Charlie and his men,
With the valiant Scottish cavaliers,
All of the olden time!
VI.
He was the first that bent the knee
When the STANDARD waved abroad,
He was the first that charged the foe
On Preston's bloody sod;
And ever, in the van of fight,
The foremost still he trod,
Until, on bleak Culloden's heath,
He gave his soul to God,
Like a good old Scottish cavalier,
All of the olden time!
VII.
Oh! never shall we know again
A heart so stout and true-
The olden times have passed away,
And weary are the new:
The fair White Rose has faded
From the garden where it grew,
And no fond tears save those of heaven
The glorious bed bedew
Of the last old Scottish cavalier,
All of the olden time!
poem by William Edmondstoune Aytoun
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Golden--of the selkirks
A trail upwinds from Golden;
It leads to a land God only knows,
To the land of eternal frozen snows,
That trail unknown and olden.
And they tell a tale that is strange and wild--
Of a lovely and lonely mountain child
That went up the trail from Golden.
A child in the sweet of her womanhood,
Beautiful, tender, grave and good
As the saints in time long olden.
And the days count not, nor the weeks avail;
For the child that went up the mountain trail
Came never again to Golden.
And the watchers wept in the midnight gloom,
Where the canyons yawn and the Selkirks loom,
For the love that they knew of olden.
And April dawned, with its suns aflame,
And the eagles wheeled and the vultures came
And poised o'er the town of Golden.
God of the white eternal peaks,
Guard the dead while the vulture seeks!--
God of the days so olden.
For only God in His greatness knows
Where the mountain holly above her grows,
On the trail that leads from Golden.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Squatter Of The Olden Time
I'll sing to you a fine new song, made by my blessed mate,
Of a fine Australian squatter who had a fine estate,
Who swore by right pre-emptive at a sanguinary rate
That by his rams, his ewes, his lambs, Australia was made great
Like a fine Australian squatter, one of the olden time.
His hut around was hung with guns, whips, spurs, and boots and shoes,
And kettles and tin pannikins to hold the tea he brews;
And here his worship lolls at ease and takes his smoke and snooze,
And quaffs his cup of hysouskin, the beverage old chums choose
Like a fine Australian squatter, one of the olden time.
And when shearing time approaches he opens hut to all,
And though ten thousand are his flocks, he featly shears them all,
Even to the scabby wanderer you'd think no good at all;
For while he fattens all the great, he boils down all the small
Like a fine old Murray squatter, one of the olden time.
And when his worship comes to town his agents for to see,
His wool to ship, his beasts to sell, he lives right merrily;
The club his place of residence, as becomes a bush J.P.,
He darkly hints that Thompson's run from scab is scarcely free
This fine old Murray settler, one of the olden time.
And now his fortune he has made to England straight goes he,
But finds with grief he's not received as he had hoped to be.
His friends declare his habits queer, his language much too free,
And are somewhat apt to cross the street when him they chance to see
This fine Australian squatter, the boy of the olden time.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Noise Pollution 1
The scientific efficacy is noisily murdering
Unlike enlivening
The olden household's hushy sibilance
The olden street children's play-scream
The olden vendors' musical sale-phonetics
The olden bullock-cart's running rhythm
The cart-man's 'hi hi
The jhatka's galloping trots
Of and on a cow's 'ammaaaah'
Dawn and dusk the cattle's dusty grazing treads
The rooster's cackle', the crow's' caw-caw'
Squeak, screech of chirping birds
Headed high by white collared eagles
The coherently, agreeably hissing breeze
Etcetera, etcetera all olden
All in melodious harmony neatly audible
With the evincing spherical silence
Today..
Everything deafening, deadening
Two, three, four and more wheeled wheeling
Small, big, bigger motoring
Up and down on earth thundering
Sounding smoky machinery nauseating
Multicoloured noisy stink
Murdering, murdering, murdering
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The love I look for
The love I look for
Could not come from you.
My mind is set to fall
At Peterloo.
But you'ld protect me,
I'd be safe with you.
You could but love me
In the olden way,
With gifts of jewels, children,
Time to play,
Be man to woman
In the olden way.
The love that's love has
Other gifts to bring,
A share in weakness, dreams,
And suffering.
These are the only
Gifts I'd have to bring.
The love I look for
Does not come from you.
I see it dawning in
Deep eyes of blue.
I dare to hope for
Love, but not from you.
poem by Lesbia Harford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Higher Courage
Come back again, my olden heart!
Ah, fickle spirit and untrue,
I bade the only guide depart
Whose faithfulness I surely knew:
I said, my heart is all too soft;
He who would climb and soar aloft
Must needs keep ever at his side
The tonic of a wholesome pride.
Come back again, my olden heart!
Alas, I called not then for thee;
I called for Courage, and apart
From Pride if Courage could not be,
Then welcome, Pride! and I shall find
In thee a power to lift the mind
This low and grovelling joy above
’Tis but the proud can truly love.
Come back again, my olden heart!
With incrustations of the years
Uncased as yet, as then thou wert,
Full-filled with shame and coward fears
Wherewith amidst a jostling throng
Of deeds, that each and all were wrong,
The doubting soul, from day to day,
Uneasy paralytic lay.
Come back again, my olden heart!
I said, Perceptions contradict,
Convictions come, anon depart,
And but themselves as false convict.
Assumptions, hasty, crude and vain,
Full oft to use will Science deign;
The corks the novice plies to-day
The swimmer soon shall cast away.
Come back again, my olden heart!
I said, Behold, I perish quite,
Unless to give me strength to start,
I make myself my rule of right
It must be, if I act at all,
To save my shame I have at call
The plea of all men understood,
Because I willed it, it is good.
Come back again, my olden heart!
I know not if in very deed
This means alone could aid impart
To serve my sickly spirit’s need;
But clear alike of wild self-will,
And fear that faltered, paltered still,
Remorseful thoughts of after days
A way espy betwixt the ways.
Come back again, old heart! Ah me!
Methinks in those thy coward fears
There might, perchance, a courage be,
That fails in these the manlier years;
Courage to let the courage sink,
Itself a coward base to think,
Rather than not for heavenly light
Wait on to show the truly right.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
The Scottish Dance
I once had myself a Scottish Lassie
She then became my joy and pride
Then one-night she gave me Scottish ale
Then she became my Scottish bride
~We then danced around the table
We danced across the floor
We danced and danced all night long
And then we drank a little more~
She enjoyed to go out clubbing
Her family and mates I would meet
She was so exciting and loving
And when I grabbed her she said I was cheek...
I once had myself a Scottish Lassie
She was also my Scottish bride
She fed me Scottish eggs and Haggis
I got so sick I thought I had nearly died.
~So we danced around the table
We danced across the floor
We danced and danced all night long
And then we ate a little more.~
She took me out dancing
Where I would meet her friends and mates
She would drink and dance all night long
How I wished to go back to the states...
I once had myself a Scottish Lassie
She was also my Scottish wife
She told me she loved me with all of her heart
And together we would share the same life.
~So we danced around the table
We danced across the floor
We danced and danced all night long
And then we loved a little more~
I would take her out drinking
Every Friday and Saturday night
One thing she loved more than drinking or singing
My lassie she loved to argue and fight...
I once had myself a Scottish Lassie
But that was many years ago
I will always remember my Scottish Lassie
And the places that we use to go
~We would dance around the table
We would dance across the floor
We would dance and dance all night long
And then we would dance a little more~
Now I am alone and single
But her memories and thoughts I do keep
I remember the good-times and not the bad
So now I smile and I never weep
~So I dance around the table
I dance across the floor
I dance and dance all night long
And then I drink and dance a little more~
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mother's Day
Matriarchy's coming fast,
Matriarchy's here!
Man's supremacy at last
Finds the end is near.
Since the days of troglodytes,
Man, the lord and master,
Sees his olden cherished rights,
Slipping fast and faster.
Daddy has no time to roam,
The household bills he's clearing,
Mummy's left four kids at home
And gone electioneering.
Mummy holds a sacred trust
To talk the public dizzy,
Daddy has to earn a crust,
And, gosh! it keeps him busy.
Once a chattel and a slave,
We grabbed her by her hair
And flung her in our private cave
To do our cooking there.
But, since her olden bonds were loosed,
More liberty she's craving,
And lovely woman rules the roost,
While mankind does the slaving.
Marriage is a full-time job
For Daddy, ever toiling:
He has to work, the poor old swab,
To keep the pot a-boiling.
But Mummy has the time to spare
To right a stricken nation.
Oh, cares! Oh, clubs! Oh, flowing hair!
This is emancipation!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Two Valentines
I.-TO MISTRESS BARBARA
There were three cavaliers, all handsome and true,
On Valentine's day came a maiden to woo,
And quoth to your mother: 'Good-morrow, my dear,
We came with some songs for your daughter to hear!'
Your mother replied: 'I'll be pleased to convey
To my daughter what things you may sing or may say!'
Then the first cavalier sung: 'My pretty red rose,
I'll love you and court you some day, I suppose!'
And the next cavalier sung, with make-believe tears:
'I've loved you! I've loved you these many long years!'
But the third cavalier (with the brown, bushy head
And the pretty blue jacket and necktie of red)
He drew himself up with a resolute air,
And he warbled: 'O maiden, surpassingly fair!
I've loved you long years, and I love you to-day,
And, if you will let me, I'll love you for aye!'
I (the third cavalier) sang this ditty to you,
In my necktie of red and my jacket of blue;
I'm sure you'll prefer the song that was mine
And smile your approval on your valentine.
II.-TO A BABY BOY
Who I am I shall not say,
But I send you this bouquet
With this query, baby mine:
'Will you be my valentine?'
See these roses blushing blue,
Very like your eyes of hue;
While these violets are the red
Of your cheeks. It can be said
Ne'er before was babe like you.
And I think it is quite true
No one e'er before to-day
Sent so wondrous a bouquet
As these posies aforesaid-
Roses blue and violets red!
Sweet, repay me sweets for sweets-
'Tis your lover who entreats!
Smile upon me, baby mine-
Be my little valentine!
poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Two valentines
I.--TO MISTRESS BARBARA
There were three cavaliers, all handsome and true,
On Valentine's day came a maiden to woo,
And quoth to your mother: "Good-morrow, my dear,
We came with some songs for your daughter to hear!"
Your mother replied: "I'll be pleased to convey
To my daughter what things you may sing or may say!"
Then the first cavalier sung: "My pretty red rose,
I'll love you and court you some day, I suppose!"
And the next cavalier sung, with make-believe tears:
"I've loved you! I've loved you these many long years!"
But the third cavalier (with the brown, bushy head
And the pretty blue jacket and necktie of red)
He drew himself up with a resolute air,
And he warbled: "O maiden, surpassingly fair!
I've loved you long years, and I love you to-day,
And, if you will let me, I'll love you for aye!"
I (the third cavalier) sang this ditty to you,
In my necktie of red and my jacket of blue;
I'm sure you'll prefer the song that was mine
And smile your approval on your valentine.
II.--TO A BABY BOY
Who I am I shall not say,
But I send you this bouquet
With this query, baby mine:
"Will you be my valentine?"
See these roses blushing blue,
Very like your eyes of hue;
While these violets are the red
Of your cheeks. It can be said
Ne'er before was babe like you.
And I think it is quite true
No one e'er before to-day
Sent so wondrous a bouquet
As these posies aforesaid--
Roses blue and violets red!
Sweet, repay me sweets for sweets--
'Tis your lover who entreats!
Smile upon me, baby mine--
Be my little valentine!
poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Uhland's
There were three cavaliers that went over the Rhine,
And gayly they called to the hostess for wine.
"And where is thy daughter? We would she were here,--
Go fetch us that maiden to gladden our cheer!"
"I'll fetch thee thy goblets full foaming," she said,
"But in yon darkened chamber the maiden lies dead."
And lo! as they stood in the doorway, the white
Of a shroud and a dead shrunken face met their sight.
Then the first cavalier breathed a pitiful sigh,
And the throb of his heart seemed to melt in his eye,
And he cried, "Hadst thou lived, O my pretty white rose,
I ween I had loved thee and wed thee--who knows?"
The next cavalier drew aside a small space,
And stood to the wall with his hands to his face;
And this was the heart-cry that came with his tears:
"I loved her, I loved her these many long years!"
But the third cavalier kneeled him down in that place,
And, as it were holy, he kissed that dead face:
"I loved thee long years, and I love thee to-day,
And I'll love thee, dear maiden, forever and aye!"
poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Growth
I watched the glory of her childhood change,
Half-sorrowful to find the child I knew,
(Loved long ago in lily-time),
Become a maid, mysterious and strange,
With fair, pure eyes - dear eyes, but not the eyes I knew
Of old, in the olden time!
Till on my doubting soul the ancient good
Of her dear childhood in the new disguise
Dawned, and I hastened to adore
The glory of her waking maidenhead,
And found the old tenderness within her deepening eyes,
But kinder than before.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Slavery was regarded by Aristotle as an ordinance of nature, and so probably was it by the slaves themselves in olden time.
quote by Alfred Marshall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Christmas Time Is Here
Christmas time is here
Happiness and cheer
Fun for all that children call
Their favorite time of the year
Snowflakes in the air
Carols everywhere
Olden times and ancient rhymes
Of love and dreams to share
Sleigh bells in the air
Beauty everywhere
Yuletide by the fireside
And joyful memories there
Christmas time is here
We'll be drawing near
Oh, that we could always see
Such spirit through the year
Oh, that we could always see
Such spirit through the year...
song performed by by Toni Braxton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Heart Of The Bruce
It was upon an April morn,
While yet the frost lay hoar,
We heard Lord James's bugle-horn
Sound by the rocky shore.
Then down we went, a hundred knights,
All in our dark array,
And flung our armour in the ships
That rode within the bay.
We spoke not as the shore grew less,
But gazed in silence back,
Where the long billows swept away
The foam behind our track.
And aye the purple hues decay'd
Upon the fading hill,
And but one heart in all that ship
Was tranquil, cold, and still.
The good Lord Douglas walk'd the deck,
And oh, his brow was wan!
Unlike the flush it used to wear
When in the battle van.-
'Come hither, come hither, my trusty knight,
Sir Simon of the Lee;
There is a freit lies near my soul
I fain would tell to thee.
'Thou know'st the words King Robert spoke
Upon his dying day,
How he bade me take his noble heart
And carry it far away;
'And lay it in the holy soil
Where once the Saviour trod,
Since he might not bear the blessed Cross,
Nor strike one blow for God.
'Last night as in my bed I lay,
I dream'd a dreary dream:-
Methought I saw a Pilgrim stand
In the moonlight's quivering beam.
'His robe was of the azure dye,
Snow-white his scatter'd hairs,
And even such a cross he bore
As good Saint Andrew bears.
''Why go you forth, Lord James,' he said,
'With spear and belted brand?
Why do you take its dearest pledge
From this our Scottish land?
''The sultry breeze of Galilee
Creeps through its groves of palm,
The olives on the Holy Mount
Stand glittering in the calm.
''But 'tis not there that Scotland's heart
Shall rest by God's decree,
Till the great angel calls the dead
To rise from earth and sea!
''Lord James of Douglas, mark my rede!
That heart shall pass once more
In fiery fight against the foe,
As it was wont of yore.
''And it shall pass beneath the Cross,
And save King Robert's vow,
But other hands shall bear it back,
Not, James of Douglas, thou!'
'Now, by thy knightly faith, I pray,
Sir Simon of the Lee-
For truer friend had never man
Than thou hast been to me-
'If ne'er upon the Holy Land
'Tis mine in life to tread,
Bear thou to Scotland's kindly earth
The relics of her dead.'
The tear was in Sir Simon's eye
As he wrung the warrior's hand-
'Betide me weal, betide me woe,
I'll hold by thy command.
'But if in battle front, Lord James,
'Tis ours once more to ride,
No force of man, nor craft of fiend,
Shall cleave me from thy side!'
And aye we sail'd, and aye we sail'd,
Across the weary sea,
Until one morn the coast of Spain
Rose grimly on our lee.
And as we rounded to the port,
Beneath the watch-tower's wall,
We heard the clash of the atabals,
And the trumpet's wavering call.
'Why sounds yon Eastern music here
So wantonly and long,
And whose the crowd of armèd men
That round yon standard throng?'
'The Moors have come from Africa
To spoil and waste and slay,
And King Alonzo of Castile
Must fight with them to-day.'
'Now shame it were,' cried good Lord James,
'Shall never be said of me,
That I and mine have turn'd aside,
From the Cross in jeopardie!
'Have down, have down, my merry men all-
Have down unto the plain;
We'll let the Scottish lion loose
Within the fields of Spain!'
'Now welcome to me, noble lord,
Thou and thy stalwart power;
Dear is the sight of a Christian knight
Who comes in such an hour!
'Is it for bond or faith ye come,
Or yet for golden fee?
Or bring ye France's lilies here,
Or the flower of Burgundie?'
'God greet thee well, thou valiant King,
Thee and thy belted peers-
Sir James of Douglas am I called,
And these are Scottish spears.
'We do not fight for bond or plight,
Not yet for golden fee;
But for the sake of our blessed Lord,
Who died upon the tree.
'We bring our great King Robert's heart
Across the weltering wave,
To lay it in the holy soil
Hard by the Saviour's grave.
'True pilgrims we, by land or sea,
Where danger bars the way;
And therefore are we here, Lord King,
To ride with thee this day!'
The King has bent his stately head,
And the tears were in his eyne-
'God's blessing on thee, noble knight,
For this brave thought of thine!
'I know thy name full well, Lord James,
And honour'd may I be,
That those who fought beside the Bruce
Should fight this day for me!
'Take thou the leading of the van,
And charge the Moors amain;
There is not such a lance as thine
In all the host of Spain!'
The Douglas turned towards us then,
O but his glance was high!-
'There is not one of all my men
But is as bold as I.
'There is not one of all my knights
But bears as true a spear-
Then onwards! Scottish gentlemen,
And think-King Robert's here!'
The trumpets blew, the cross-bolts flew,
The arrows flashed like flame,
As spur in side, and spear in rest,
Against the foe we came.
And many a bearded Saracen
Went down, both horse and man;
For through their ranks we rode like corn,
So furiously we ran!
But in behind our path they closed,
Though fain to let us through,
For they were forty thousand men,
And we were wondrous few.
We might not see a lance's length,
So dense was their array,
But the long fell sweep of the Scottish blade
Still held them hard at bay.
'Make in! make in!' Lord Douglas cried,
'Make in, my brethren dear!
Sir William of Saint Clair is down;
We may not leave him here!'
But thicker, thicker, grew the swarm,
And sharper shot the rain,
And the horses reared amid the press,
But they would not charge again.
'Now Jesu help thee,' said Lord James,
'Thou kind and true St Clair!
An' if I may not bring thee off,
I'll die beside thee there!'
Then in his stirrups up he stood,
So lionlike and bold,
And held the precious heart aloft
All in its case of gold.
He flung it from him, far ahead,
And never spake he more,
But-'Pass thee first, thou dauntless heart,
As thou wert wont of yore!'
The roar of fight rose fiercer yet,
And heavier still the stour,
Till the spears of Spain came shivering in,
And swept away the Moor.
'Now praised be God, the day is won!
They fly o'er flood and fell-
Why dost thou draw the rein so hard,
Good knight, that fought so well?'
'Oh, ride ye on, Lord King!' he said,
'And leave the dead to me,
For I must keep the dreariest watch
That ever I shall dree!
'There lies, beside his master's heart,
The Douglas, stark and grim;
And woe is me I should be here,
Not side by side with him!
'The world grows cold, my arm is old,
And thin my lyart hair,
And all that I loved best on earth
Is stretch'd before me there.
'O Bothwell banks! that bloom so bright,
Beneath the sun of May,
The heaviest cloud that ever blew
Is bound for you this day.
'And, Scotland, thou may'st veil thy head
In sorrow and in pain;
The sorest stroke upon thy brow
Hath fallen this day in Spain!
'We'll bear them back unto our ship,
We'll bear them o'er the sea,
And lay them in the hallowed earth,
Within our own countrie.
'And be thou strong of heart, Lord King,
For this I tell thee sure,
The sod that drank the Douglas' blood
Shall never bear the Moor!'
The King he lighted from his horse,
He flung his brand away,
And took the Douglas by the hand,
So stately as he lay.
'God give thee rest, thou valiant soul,
That fought so well for Spain;
I'd rather half my land were gone,
So thou wert here again!'
We bore the good Lord James away,
And the priceless heart he bore,
And heavily we steer'd our ship
Towards the Scottish shore.
No welcome greeted our return,
Nor clang of martial tread,
But all were dumb and hushed as death
Before the mighty dead.
We laid our chief in Douglas Kirk,
The heart in fair Melrose;
And woeful men were we that day-
God grant their souls repose!
poem by William Edmondstoune Aytoun
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lilydale
Three hills lead on to Lilydale,
Where runs the White Horse Road.
Three slopes dip down into the vale
The placid vale of Lilydale,
That somnolent abode
Of dreams that compass olden days,
Of tranquil life and easy ways,
Where transient beauty tints her trees
With golden Autumn's harmonies.
For Lilydale is now a dame
Unhurried and content.
Traditions that attend her name
Serve her from all she needs of fame,
Who scorns the brandishment
Of modern haste and modern show.
And, as the speeding motors go
Down thro' her street, to hasten by,
She marks them with a sleepy sigh.
Amid her grazing kine she goes
The 'milkers', 'stores' and 'fats.'
A cow she venerates, and knows
How well to hoard the wealth that flows
From her rich river flats
One passion lures her from her course;
Her great love for a likely horse.
Tempting to revels now and then
With her twin dreamer, Yarra Glen.
Three hills lead on to Lilydale,
Three slopes dip down below.
And every hill, and every vale
Tell once more the olden tale
Of days when life moved slow;
Save when the dashing fours-in-hand
Came clattering to this new-found land,
And wakened this bucolic spot
To life's high fever - long forgot.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Time
We test time by seconds, minutes,
hours, days and years.
We then add figures in front of them.
We put time on everything,
whether it is inanimate or animate.
Time will have a space somewhere there.
We are cultured to
seek out time from everywhere.
When we cannot find it,
we are entirely lost.
However, do we really need
a clock to tell us things?
We can eat when we are hungry,
sleep when we are tired,
work until we’ve had enough
and play whenever the moment takes us.
In reality, we don’t need time.
Just think they never
had watches in the olden days.
Have you ever tried
to do without time?
If you haven’t then
you’re missing something so grand.
There are no worries and stress
that modern day brings.
It is healthier living at its best.
Totally relaxing
to enable you to run with the wind.
Time who needs it anyway?
Do we really need to be governed by a clock?
26 October 2007
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Country Roads ~ White Horse Road
By White Horse Tavern, White Horse Road
In olden days wound down;
And many a waggon bore its load
And many a bullock felt the goad
From town to country town.
Thro' Ringwood on, by hill and vale,
Their patient way they went.
Until they came to Lilydale,
The olden town of Lilydale.
And teamsters paused at Lilydale,
A place of calm content.
But days of bitumen and tar
Have changed the ancient mode;
And now the speeding motor car,
Where traffic-cops and bowsers are,
Go down the White Horse Road,
Upon a smooth, broad way they sail,
Till, sudden, up and down,
The bumps begin at Lilydale,
The rocky road to Lilydale,
The holey road to Lilydale,
A very peaceful town.
Beyond the town, the bumps are past,
And vexed springs settle down;
But many an angry look is cast
And many a curse speeds backwards fast
Toward that backward town.
On to the foothills leads the trail
By smooth and pleasant ways,
But, oh, that stretch thro' Lilydale!
The sleepy town of Lilydale,
Where folk still think, in Lilydale,
In terms of bullock drays.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Female Rights
(10/5/12)
In olden days girls had to be prepared by age eight
Learning to cook, sew, and clean house
And prepare herself for a spouse.
The only dolls that these girls knew
Was put together by straw and glue.
Then with time things did change
Dolls were made for every age.
But mans ideas stayed the same
The females still did not have any rights
But yet they was taught to fight.
Centuries have passed since that time
And yet some things remain the same
In the middle east and parts of Asia
The female rights are still in danger.
But the sexual and physical abuse
Is all over the world, and it affects
Our boys and girls.
I think it's time for the public
To stand up and fight
For the children and women s rights.
© L. RAMS
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Old Keg Of Rum
My name is old Jack Palmer,
I'm a man of olden days,
And so I wish to sing a song
To you of olden praise.
To tell of merry friends of old
When we were gay and young;
How we sat and sang together
Round the Old Keg of Rum.
Oh! the Old Keg of Rum! the Old Keg of Rum!
How we sat and sang together
Round the Old Keg of Rum.
There was I and Jack the plough-boy,
Jem Moore and old Tom Hines,
And poor old Tom the fiddler,
Who now in glory shines;
And several more of our old chums,
Who shine in Kingdom Come,
We all associated round the
Old Keg of Rum.
Oh! the Old Keg of Rum! the Old Keg of Rum!
We all associated round the
Old Keg of Rum.
And when harvest time was over,
And we'd get our harvest fee,
We'd meet, and quickly rise the keg,
And then we'd have a spree.
We'd sit and sing together
Till we got that blind and dumb
That we couldn't find the bunghole
Of the Old Keg of Rum.
Oh! the Old Keg of Rum! the Old Keg of Rum!
That we couldn't find the bunghole
Of the Old Keg of Rum.
Its jovially together, boys
We'd laugh, we'd chat, we'd sing;
Sometimes we'd have a little row
Some argument would bring.
And oftimes in a scrimmage, boys,
I've corked it with my thumb,
To keep the life from leaking
From the Old Keg of Rum.
Oh! the Old Keg of Rum! the Old Keg of Rum!
To keep the life from leaking
From the Old Keg of Rum.
But when our spree was ended, boys,
And waking from a snooze,
For to give another drain
The old keg would refuse.
We'd rap it with our knuck
If it sounded like a drum,
We'd know the life and spirit
Had left the Old Keg of Rum.
Oh! the Old Keg of Rum! the Old Keg of Rum!
We'd know the life and spirit
Had left the Old Keg of Rum.
Those happy days have passed away,
I've seen their pleasures fade;
And many of our good old friends
Have with old times decayed.
But still, when on my travels, boys,
If I meet with an old chum,
We will sigh, in conversation,
Of the Grand Old Keg of Rum.
Oh! the Old Keg of Rum! the Old Keg of Rum!
We will sigh, in conversation,
Of the Grand Old Keg of Rum.
So now, kind friends, I end my song,
I hope we'll meet again,
And, as I've tried to please you all,
I hope you won't complain.
You younger folks who learn my song,
Will, perhaps, in years to come,
Remember old Jack Palmer
And the Old Rum Of Rum.
Oh! the Old Keg of Rum! the Old Keg of Rum!
Remember old Jack Palmer
And the Old Keg of Rum.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Change
But now life's face beholden
Seemed bright as heaven's bare brow
With hope of gifts withholden
But now.
From time's full-flowering bough
Each bud spake bloom to embolden
Love's heart, and seal his vow.
Joy's eyes grew deep with olden
Dreams, born he wist not how;
Thought's meanest garb was golden;
But now!
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!