A Sketch
The little hedgerow birds,
That peck along the road, regard him not.
He travels on, and in his face, his step,
His gait, is one expression; every limb,
His look and bending figure, all bespeak
A man who does not move with pain, but moves
With thought. -He is insensibly subdued
To settled quiet: he is one by whom
All effort seems forgotten; one to whom
Long patience hath such mild composure given
That patience now doth seem a thing of which
He hath no need. He is by nature led
To peace so perfect, that the young behold
With envy what the Old Man hardly feels.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Animal Tranquillity and Decay
The little hedgerow birds,
That peck along the roads, regard him not.
He travels on, and in his face, his step,
His gait, is one expression: every limb,
His look and bending figure, all bespeak
A man who does not move with pain, but moves
With thought.--He is insensibly subdued
To settled quiet: he is one by whom
All effort seems forgotten; one to whom
Long patience hath such mild composure given,
That patience now doth seem a thing of which
He hath no need. He is by nature led
To peace so perfect that the young behold
With envy, what the Old Man hardly feels.
poem by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Of Time’s Riddles
IN her deep bosom the pride settled down—
That pride which is a brackish thing like salt;
And the life in her pulses seemed to halt.
About her temples for an iron crown
She set stern patience. She did never frown,
But her long gaze was gentle to a fault;
And, looking deep into her eyes, you had call'd
Their lustre nothing but a mild clear brown.
She lives and moves and is a mystery.
That which she hath been the thought cannot touch;
Only, beholding what she is, it hath
Glimpses of something she is yet to be;
And at the least it knows of her thus much:—
She bides her season with a solemn faith.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Sonnet: A Bit of Patience
A bit of patience works out miracles;
A bit of patience puts off arguments;
A bit of patience problems well tackles;
A bit of patience preserves monuments.
A bit of patience can avoid hatred;
A bit of patience cools one’s anger off;
A bit of patience marks well good kindred;
A bit of patience makes many to laugh.
A bit of patience keeps good friends at peace;
A bit of patience can avoid big wars;
A bit of patience can jealousy cease;
A bit of patience can avoid big scars.
A bit of patience gives good advantage;
A bit of patience is good heritage.
poem by John Celes
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Pritams dog
Pritams dog is no more
one can enter the house now.
who are they stay
regard not.
step by step
you can enter
express not.
Have patience
patience is the only one
that can teach
that can learn
except patience
nothing to earn.
You are stone
You are tree
you can go
whereever you feel free.
Pritams dog is no more
you can go.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Making Me Wait To Rekindle
I do not envy a second of your patience.
I could not sit to wait,
As if my own needs...
Can only be satisfied,
If a bit of tolerance was applied.
I do not envy a second of your patience.
As if a puppy held by an invisible leash.
Intoxicated with a craving for an appearance,
To share that familiarity again.
I do not envy a second of your patience.
But I do...
Wish I could have someone,
To pretend I am bitter with...
For making me wait,
To rekindle a romantic encounter.
Those times are missed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Astrophel And Stella-First Song
Doubt you to whom my Muse these notes intendeth,
Which now my breast o'ercharged to music lendeth?
To you, to you, all song of praise is due;
Only in you my song begins and endeth.
Who hath the eyes which marry state with pleasure?
Who keeps the key of Nature's chiefest treasure?
To you, to you, all song of praise is due;
Only for you the heaven forgat all measure.
Who hath the lips where wit in fairness reigneth?
Who womankind at once both decks and staineth?
To you, to you, all song of praise is due;
Only by you Cupid his crown maintaineth.
Who hath the feet whose step all sweetness planteth?
Who else, for whom Fame worthy trumpets wanteth?
To you, to you, all song of praise is due;
Only to you her sceptre Venus granteth.
Who hath the breast whose milk doth passions nourish?
Whose grace is such that when it chides doth cherish?
To you, to you, all song of praise is due;
Only through you the tree of life doth flourish.
Who hath the hand which without stroke subdueth?
Who long-dead beauty with increase reneweth?
To you, to you, all song of praise is due;
Only at you all envy hopeless rueth.
Who hath the hair which, loosest, fastest tieth?
Who makes a man live then glad when he dieth?
To you, to you, all song of praise is due;
Only of you the flatterer never lieth.
Who hath the voice which soul from senses sunders?
Whose force but yours the bolts of beauty thunders?
To you, to you, all song of praise is due;
Only with you not miracles are wonders.
Doubt you to whom my Muse these notes intendeth,
Which now my breast o'ercharged to music lendeth?
To you, to you, all song of praise is due;
Only in you my song begins and endeth.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Phillis I
My Phillis hath the morning sun
At first to look upon her;
And Phillis hath morn-waking birds
Her risings still to honour.
My Phillis hath prime-feather'd flowers,
That smile when she treads on them;
And Phillis hath a gallant flock,
That leaps since she doth own them.
But Phillis hath too hard a heart,
Alas that she should have it!
It yields no mercy to desert,
Nor grace to those that crave it.
poem by Thomas Lodge
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Phillis 01
MY Phillis hath the morning sun
At first to look upon her;
And Phillis hath morn-waking birds
Her risings still to honour.
My Phillis hath prime-feather'd flowers,
That smile when she treads on them;
And Phillis hath a gallant flock,
That leaps since she doth own them.
But Phillis hath too hard a heart,
Alas that she should have it!
It yields no mercy to desert,
Nor grace to those that crave it.
poem by Thomas Lodge
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In Harmony with Nature
"In Harmony with Nature?" Restless fool,
Who with such heat dost preach what were thee,
When true, the last impossibility—
To be like Nature strong, like Nature cool!
Know, man hath all which Nature hath, but more,
And in that more lie all his hopes of good.
Nature is cruel, man is sick of of blood;
Nature is stubborn, man would fain adore;
Nature is fickle, man hath need of rest;
Nature forgives no debt, and fears no grave;
Man would be mild, and with safe conscience blest.
Man must begin, know this, where Nature ends;
Nature and man can never be fast friends.
Fool, if thou canst not pass her, rest her slave!
poem by Matthew Arnold from Sonnets (1849)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Whosoever hath not patience, neither doth he possess philosophy.
Saadi in Gulistan (The Rose Garden) (1258), translated by Francis Gladwin
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Mothers Day2007
She hath my heart, she is my mum.
She hath my heart, she is my only, she is my one.
She hath my heart, though rough winds may blow.
She hath my heart, still her love will flow, her love will always show.
She hath my heart, I thank my lucky stars.
She hath my heart and i have hers.
She hath my heart, i long for her presence.
She hath my heart, her name is essence.
She hath my heart and forever she will.
Lifetimes will come and go, i will love her still
She hath my heart, this fact i cant conceal
Our bond is like sentiment you just cant kill
She hath my heart in times of sorrow.
She hath my heart, yesterday, today and tomorrow.
She hath my heart, my voice will sing.
She hath my heart, she makes the bell in my heart ring.
She hath my heart, in times of trouble.
She wont stumble no i will not let her crumble.
She hath my heart in each and every way
And my love for her grows with each day
She hath my heart for we were once one.
She hath my heart, the heart of the boy inside the man
I hath her heart, the heart we once shared.
Though separated in body the hearts still paired.
She hath my heart i need her near.
She hath my heart my mama dear
She hath my heart and she already knows
In a world of thorny bushes she stands out like rose
She hath my heart for she is always by my side
When the sun sets she is my light, she is my guide.
poem by Soul Child
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Patience Rules
I am told that idea rules the world
The real ruler is patience
Patience owns the plannet
The child of patience is idea
Without patience idea is aborted
Patience rules the world
Patience is gradual and steady
Yet it always leads to victory
Although the snail has neither hand nor leg
Patiently its destinations are reached
Nothing can be attained without patience
It is with patience
That snake climbs coconut trees
An ant invested firewood
Is fetched vide patience
Patience is profitable
Whatever you desire in life
Let patience be your watchword
Only the patient can milk lionness
Kingship is attained through patience
Royal crown is perfectly fitted by it
Hurray! patience is the champion
Patience is it!
poem by Babatunde Aremu
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Man's best companion
Patience is the greatest weapon of man
By exercising patience
Every enduring task is accomplished
Patience is a kind of worship
It is a great service to God
When everyone deserts him
It is his patience that stands by him
In happiness patience prevents him From going astray
In his sorrow patience saves him
From being rigid to God
Patience is his best companion
Through thick and thin.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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A Half-Way Pause
The turn of noontide has begun.
In the weak breeze the sunshine yields.
There is a bell upon the fields.
On the long hedgerow's tangled run
A low white cottage intervenes:
Against the wall a blind man leans,
And sways his face to have the sun.
Our horses' hoofs stir in the road,
Quiet and sharp. Light hath a song
Whose silence, being heard, seems long.
The point of noon maketh abode,
And will not be at once gone through.
The sky's deep colour saddens you,
And the heat weighs a dreamy load.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Recital Of My Heart's Glory
I am bereft of sentiment worthy of mine own wondrous emotion
As my verity, at long last, hath given cause for soul's devotion;
As though predestined, reality meets with my heart's fanciful intuition,
My oft-imagined, life-long somniation hath come to wonderful fruition!
Once, as a child I did glimpse same, yet 'twas fleeting, and I, not prime;
Now, as a man, I bear witness to this grace again-this beauty, sublime!
For every man or monad thought inviolable, there exists impuissance-
Mine hath the form of a dichotomy, as she exudes with pleasance!
Nary doth a moment fleet whence thought is not consumed with such-
Periodically, I must cause remind, lest I should think it all, too much!
All this, yet still, an adjoining hath not been, for years, score-
To muse, whensoever same comes again-all, and evermore!
Hath there ever been such an eminent, empyrean, story?
Lo, there hath been-and it is surely the recital of my heart's glory!
Maurice Harris,1 December 2009
poem by Maurice Harris
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To Phillis the Faire Sheeperdesse
My Phillis hath the morninge Sunne,
at first to looke upon her:
And Phillis hath morne-waking birds,
her risinge still to honour.
My Phillis hath prime-featherd flowres,
that smile when she treads on them:
And Phillis hath a gallant flocke,
that leapes since she dooth owne them.
But Phillis hath too hard a hart,
alas, that she should have it:
It yeelds no mercie to desert,
nor grace to those that crave it.
Sweete Sunne, when thou look'st on,
pray her regard my moane!
Sweete birds, when you sing to her,
to yeeld some pitty, woo her!
Sweet flowers that she treads on,
tell her, her beauty deads one.
And if in life her love she nill agree me,
Pray her before I die, she will come see me.
Finis.
poem by Sir Edward Dyer
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Who Hath The Courage?
Who hath courage? Not the hero
Leading in the strife,
To receive a nation's plaudits,
For his waste of life.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He alone who dares
Act up to his own convictions,
And the right declares.
Who hath courage? Not the tyrant
Boasting of his skill,
To enslave and bind his fellow
At his simple will.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He that doth proclaim,
Unto all their right to freedom,
Every man the same.
Who hath courage? Not the sober,
Or untempted one,
Who hath never had his stomach
Eaten out by rum.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He who though he may
Have been using poison freely,
Throws the cup away.
Who hath courage? Not the daring,
Reckless pugilist,
Who for wager smites a brother,
With uplifted fist.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He that won't resent
Every little insult given
With a base intent.
poem by Benjamin Cutler Clark
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Phillis 1
MY Phillis hath the morning sun
At first to look upon her;
And Phillis hath morn-waking birds
Her risings still to honour.
My Phillis hath prime-feather'd flowers,
That smile when she treads on them;
And Phillis hath a gallant flock,
That leaps since she doth own them.
But Phillis hath too hard a heart,
Alas that she should have it!
It yields no mercy to desert,
Nor grace to those that crave it.
poem by Thomas Lodge
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Patience—has a quiet Outer
926
Patience—has a quiet Outer—
Patience—Look within—
Is an Insect's futile forces
Infinites—between—
'Scaping one—against the other
Fruitlesser to fling—
Patience—is the Smile's exertion
Through the quivering—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Patience Given
Patience given,
To those dealing with their insecurities...
Have several exceptions!
Patience given to a child,
Learning when and how to use a toilet.
Patience given to a child,
Going to school for the first time.
Patience given to a child,
Learning how to share.
Patience given to a child,
When left with a babysitter.
Patience given to a child,
When learning the difference...
Between telling a lie and being honest.
Patience given to a child,
When being taught to be responsible.
Patience given,
To those dealing with their insecurities...
Have several exceptions!
Extenuating exceptions beyond the call of reason,
Requires one to ignore with an ability...
That preserves a peace of mind one wishes,
To keep and maintain undisturbed...
By those who are,
Disturbed by their expectations to be exceptions...
To the rule.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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