Nuns Fret Not at Their Convent's Narrow Room
Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room;
And hermits are contented with their cells;
And students with their pensive citadels;
Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,
Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom,
High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells,
Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells:
In truth the prison, unto which we doom
Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me,
In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound
Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground;
Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be)
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,
Should find brief solace there, as I have found.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Related quotes
The Sonnet i
NUNS fret not at their convent's narrow room,
And hermits are contented with their cells,
And students with their pensive citadels;
Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,
Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom,
High as the highest peak of Furness fells,
Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells:
In truth the prison unto which we doom
Ourselves no prison is: and hence for me,
In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound
Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground;
Pleased if some souls (for such there needs must be)
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,
Should find brief solace there, as I have found.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Born In A Prison
Were born in a prison, raised in a prison,
Sent to a prison called school.
We cry in a prison, we love in a prison,
We dream in a prison like fools.
Wood becomes a flute when its loved,
Reach for yourself and your battered mates.
Mirror becomes a razor when its broken,
Look in the mirror and see your shattered fate.
We live with no reason, kicked round for no reason,
Thrown out without reason like tools.
We work in a prison and hate in a prison,
And die in a prison as a rule.
Wood becomes a flute when its loved,
Reach for yourself and your battered mates.
Mirror becomes a razor when its broken,
Look in the mirror and see your shattered fate.
We live in a prison mong judges and wardens
And wait for no reason for you.
We laugh in a prison, go through all four seasons,
And die with no vision of truth.
Wood becomes a flute when its loved,
Reach for yourself and your battered mates.
Mirror becomes a razor when its broken,
Look in the mirror and see your shattered fate.
Born in a prison!
(born in a prison!)
(born in a prison!)
(born in a prison!)
Born in a prison!
(born in a prison!)
(born in a prison!)
Born in a prison!
Born in a prison!
Born in a prison!
(born in a prison!)
(born in a prison!)
Born in a prison!
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Born In A Prison
Were born in a prison, raised in a prison,
Sent to a prison called school.
We cry in a prison, we love in a prison,
We dream in a prison like fools.
Wood becomes a flute when its loved,
Reach for yourself and your battered mates.
Mirror becomes a razor when its broken,
Look in the mirror and see your shattered fate.
We live with no reason, kicked round for no reason,
Thrown out without reason like tools.
We work in a prison and hate in a prison,
And die in a prison as a rule.
Wood becomes a flute when its loved,
Reach for yourself and your battered mates.
Mirror becomes a razor when its broken,
Look in the mirror and see your shattered fate.
We live in a prison mong judges and wardens
And wait for no reason for you.
We laugh in a prison, go through all four seasons,
And die with no vision of truth.
Wood becomes a flute when its loved,
Reach for yourself and your battered mates.
Mirror becomes a razor when its broken,
Look in the mirror and see your shattered fate.
Born in a prison!
(born in a prison!)
(born in a prison!)
(born in a prison!)
Born in a prison!
(born in a prison!)
(born in a prison!)
Born in a prison!
Born in a prison!
Born in a prison!
(born in a prison!)
(born in a prison!)
Born in a prison!
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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School is a prison...
The classroom is…
A jail cell
There halls leading
To each cell
The school food is
taste like prison food
In the cafeteria there
are long lines for food
The principle runs
the school
The warden runs
the prison
They have guards
telling inmates what to do
We have teachers
telling students what to do
The inmates are
the students
Were all serving
A 12 year sentence
School is just a prison for students
poem by Kitty In Love
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Brookland Road
I was very well pleased with what I knowed,
I reckoned myself no fool --
Till I met with a maid on the Brookland Road,
That turned me back to school.
Low down-low down!
Where the liddle green lanterns shine --
O maids, I've done with 'ee all but one,
And she can never be mine!
'Twas right in the middest of a hot June night,
With thunder duntin' round,
And I see her face by the fairy-light
That beats from off the ground.
She only smiled and she never spoke,
She smiled and went away;
But when she'd gone my heart was broke
And my wits was clean astray.
O, stop your ringing and let me be --
Let be, O Brookland bells!
You'll ring Old Goodman out of the sea,
Before I wed one else!
Old Goodman's Farm is rank sea-sand,
And was this thousand year;
But it shall turn to rich plough-land
Before I change my dear.
O, Fairfield Church is water-bound
From autumn to the spring;
But it shall turn to high hill-ground
Before my bells do ring.
O, leave me walk on Brookland Road,
In the thunder and warm rain --
O, leave me look where my love goed,
And p'raps I'll see her again!
Low down -- low down!
Where the liddle green lanterns shine --
O maids, I've done with 'ee all but one,
And she can never be mine!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Stanford prison experiment came out of class exercises in which I encouraged students to understand the dynamics of prison life.
quote by Philip Zimbardo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Locked Inside Your Prison
Your love is like a prison wall
And its getting higher
I get so far and then I fall
I cant get through the wire
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Its as though Im doing time
And you wont free me
Let the punishment befit the crime
And say you need me
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Save me save me cant you see Im innocent
Turn the key that will set me free
Please let it end oh let it end
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Save me save me cant you see Im innocent
Turn the key that will set me free
Please let it end wont you let it end
Ill dig a tunnel to your heart
Let me remind you
Even gonna tear the walls apart
Until I find you
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
Oh oh oh Im locked inside your prison
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lunch Break: Peak Hour
I see it all through my window it seems
Never failing like millions of bees
All that is wrong
No time will be won
All they need to do-o-o-o
What can be done?
Peak hour, peak hour, peak hour
Minds are subject to what should be done
Problem solved, time cannot be won
One hour a day
One hour at night
Sees crowds of people
All meant for flight
Peak hour, peak hour, peak hour
It makes me want to run out and tell them
Theyve got time
Take a step back out
And look in at their debt
And their time
Minds are subject to what should be done
Problem solved, time cannot be won
One hour a day
One hour at night
Sees crowds of people
All meant for flight
Peak hour, peak hour, peak hour
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Convent Garden
The Convent garden lies so near
The road the people go,
If it was quiet you might hear
The nuns' talk, merry and low.
Black London trees have made their screen
From folk who pry and peer,
The sooty sparrows now begin
Their talk of country cheer.
And round and round by twos and threes
The nuns walk, praying still
For fighting men across the seas
Who die to save them ill.
From the dear prison of her choice
The young nun's thoughts are far;
She muses on the golden boys
At all the Fronts of War.
Now from her narrow Convent house
She sees where great ships be,
And plucks the robe of God, her Spouse,
To give the victory.
Under her robe her heart's a-beat,
Her maiden pulses stir,
At sound of marching in the street,
To think they die for her!
And now beneath the veil and hood
Her hidden eyes will glow,
The battle ardour's in her blood --
If she might strike one blow!
And when she sleeps at last perchance
Her soul hath slipped away
To fields of Serbia and of France
Until the dawn of day.
She wanders by the still moonbeam
By dying and by dead,
And many a broken man will dream
An angel lifts his head.
All day and night as a sweet smoke
Her prayer ascends the skies
That all her piteous fighting folk
May walk in Paradise.
And still her innocent pulses stir,
Her heart is proud and high,
To think that men should die for her --
And the marching feet go by.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Born In Prison
Were born in a prison
Raised in a prison
Sent to a prison called school
We cry in a prison
We love in a prison
We dream in a prison like fools
Wood becomes a flute when its loved
Reach for yourself and your battered mates
Mirror becomes a razor when its broken
Look in the mirror and see your shattered fate
We live with no reason
Kicked around for no reason
Thrown out without reason like tools
We work in a prison
And hate in a prison
And die in a prison as a rule
Wood becomes a flute when its loved
Reach for yourself and your battered mates
Mirror becomes a razor when its broken
Look in the mirror and see your shattered fate
We live in a prison
Among judges and wardens
And wait for no reason for you
We laugh in a prison
Go through all four seasons
And die with no vision of truth
Wood becomes a flute when its loved
Reach for yourself and your battered mates
Mirror becomes a razor when its broken
Look in the mirror and see your shattered fate
song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bound
I am bound in he prison of love and,
To gather herbs in the fields of love;
But take my son and take care of him,
Because a large pot of stew is now set before me!
She is deeply distress so,
Lay my staff on your face;
Because the boy sneezed seven times!
And i am now bound in the prison of love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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By The Fireside : King Witlaf's Drinking-horn
Witlaf, a king of the Saxons,
Ere yet his last he breathed,
To the merry monks of Croyland
His drinking-horn bequeathed,--
That, whenever they sat at their revels,
And drank from the golden bowl,
They might remember the donor,
And breathe a prayer for his soul.
So sat they once at Christmas,
And bade the goblet pass;
In their beards the red wine glistened
Like dew-drops in the grass.
They drank to the soul of Witlaf,
They drank to Christ the Lord,
And to each of the Twelve Apostles,
Who had preached his holy word.
They drank to the Saints and Martyrs
Of the dismal days of yore,
And as soon as the horn was empty
They remembered one Saint more.
And the reader droned from the pulpit
Like the murmur of many bees,
The legend of good Saint Guthlac,
And Saint Basil's homilies;
Till the great bells of the convent,
From their prison in the tower,
Guthlac and Bartholomaeus,
Proclaimed the midnight hour.
And the Yule-log cracked in the chimney,
And the Abbot bowed his head,
And the flamelets flapped and flickered,
But the Abbot was stark and dead.
Yet still in his pallid fingers
He clutched the golden bowl,
In which, like a pearl dissolving,
Had sunk and dissolved his soul.
But not for this their revels
The jovial monks forbore,
For they cried, 'Fill high the goblet!
We must drink to one Saint more!'
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Thin Air
The air is thin
at 34,000 feet
where the old man left the plane behind.
He flew on ahead,
far, far ahead,
to the one destination
that all are helplessly bound to find.
Without a heartbeat
his face finished smiling,
as if once again a young boy;
perhaps death shall be - and is -
the last and greatest
enduring joy.
Every bird that has ever flown
by it's own weight
comes back down;
every vapor that rises,
by lack of weight,
is never again earth-bound.
Life is strange
at 34,000 feet,
where the air is so thin;
out where souls soar
beyond broken bodies
that have forgotten how to grin.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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The Caged Skylark
As a dare-gale skylark scanted in a dull cage,
Man's mounting spirit in his bone-house, mean house, dwells --
That bird beyond the remembering h{'i}s free fells;
This in drudgery, day-labouring-out life's age.
Though aloft on turf or perch or poor low stage
Both sing somet{'i}mes the sweetest, sweetest spells,
Yet both droop deadly s{'o}metimes in their cells
Or wring their barriers in bursts of fear or rage.
Not that the sweet-fowl, song-fowl, needs no rest --
Why, hear him, hear him babble |&| drop down to his nest,
But his own nest, wild nest, no prison.
Man's spirit will be flesh-bound, when found at best,
But {'u}nc{'u}mber{`e}d: meadow-d{'o}wn is n{'o}t distr{'e}ssed
For a r{'a}inbow f{'o}oting it nor h{'e} for his b{'o}nes r{'i}sen.
poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
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Peak Hour
I see it all through my window it seems.
Never failing, like millions of eels.
All that is wrong,
No time to be won.
Only to do
What can be done.
Peak hour,
Peak hour,
Peak hour.
Minds are subject to what should be done.
Problem solved, time cannot be won.
One hour a day,
One hour a night
Sees crowds of people
Home-aimed for flight.
Peak hour,
Peak hour,
Peak hour.
It makes me want to run out and tell them
They've got time.
Take a step back out and warn them
I've found out I've got time.
Minds are subject to what should be done.
Problem solved, time cannot be won.
One hour a day,
One hour a night
Sees crowds of people
Home-aimed for flight.
Peak hour,
Peak hour,
Peak hour.
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Uncle John
Years ago you climbed the mango tree
On an alibi to see both of them
They talked in the sala of your house
And went inside your room
After they kissed
You did not wait for reason
Before they
Can undress
You shot him dead
You spared her
Your wife because you loved her
15 years in prison
You were released to find yourself
In this bigger prison
Without love
All that you can find in her
And her children are barbed wires
Uncle John, tell me
Which do you prefer now?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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50
Years ago you climbed the mango tree
On an alibi to see both of them
They talked in the sala of your house
And went inside your room
After they kissed
You did not wait for reason
Before they
Can undress
You shot him dead
You spared her
Your wife because you loved her
15 years in prison
You were released to find yourself
In this bigger prison
Without love
All that you can find in her
And her children are barbed wires
Uncle John, tell me
Which do you prefer now?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ring Them Bells
Ring them bells ye heathen from the city that dreams
Ring them bells from the sanctuaries cross the valleys and streams
For theyre deep and theyre wide
And the worlds on its side
And time is running backwards and so is the bride
Ring them bells saint peter where the four winds blow
Ring them bells with an iron hand so the people will know
Oh its rush hour now
On the wheel and the plow
And the sun is going down upon the sacred cow
Ring them bells sweet martha for the poor mans son
Ring them bells so the world will know that God is one
For the shepherd is asleep
Where the willows weep
And the mountains are filled with lost sheep
Ring them bells for the blind and the deaf
Ring them bells for all of us who are left
Ring them bells for the chosen few
Who will judge the many
When the game is through
Ring them bells for the time that flies
For the child that cries
When innocence dies
Ring them bells saint catherine from the top of the room
Ring them from the fortress for the lilies that bloom
For the lines are long
And the fighting is strong
And theyre breaking down the distance between right and wrong
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lighter birds can Soar high, Heavier can only Run on Legs!
Life itself is that eternal bird,
building the nest of clay,
When safety becomes its priority,
Closes windows and doors,
Only to feel itself in darkness,
depriving itself of fresh air!
Smaller and narrow will be its nest,
Where in, It can sing in darkness,
The song of its pain heard by no one!
Learning leads to plan its home,
With wider doors and windows,
Open to light and fresh air,
Its happy song liked by all,
Little heart full of love,
Wider than world as world feels,
Still the bird want more light,
Leaving the nest,
flying long and wide,
Wide will be its vission,
Wide will be space its eyes can see,
Great view of world makes it happy,
Only happy bird can sing melody,
The eternal tune of wisdom,
evergreen song that every life wants to sing!
Deep into space it can see,
Vision beyond galaxies,
nay, vission beyond narrow boundaries of human heart,
The bird's eye surely full of visions,
Free of views and thoughts,
heart has only one religion,
'soar as high as possible,
Less weight of sorrows,
less light of opinions,
Higher it can soar, ,
With lighter and efficient heart,
lighter, yet efficient
Heart,
Embedded in Lighter skeleton,
Less weight of head,
Strong heart make the flight easy,
Heavier the skeleton,
Inefficient heart,
Can only make the bird flightless,
It can only run on legs away from truth,
Never can fly, how can it soar high?
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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The Spinner
As I calmly sat and span,
Toiling with all zeal,
Lo! a young and handsome man
Pass'd my spinning-wheel.
And he praised,--what harm was there?--
Sweet the things he said--
Praised my flax-resembling hair,
And the even thread.
He with this was not content,
But must needs do more;
And in twain the thread was rent,
Though 'twas safe before.
And the flax's stonelike weight
Needed to be told;
But no longer was its state
Valued as of old.
When I took it to the weaver,
Something felt I start,
And more quickly, as with fever,
Throbb'd my trembling heart.
Then I bear the thread at length
Through the heat, to bleach;
But, alas, I scarce have strength
To the pool to reach.
What I in my little room
Span so fine and slight,--
As was likely. I presume--
Came at last to light.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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