A Letter of Advice
You tell me you're promised a lover,
My own Araminta, next week;
Why cannot my fancy discover
The hue of his coat, and his cheek?
Alas! if he look like another,
A vicar, a banker, a beau,
Be deaf to your father and mother,
My own Araminta, say 'No!'
Miss Lane, at her Temple of Fashion,
Taught us both how to sing and to speak,
And we loved one another with passion,
Before we had been there a week:
You gave me a ring for a token;
I wear it wherever I go;
I gave you a chain, - it is broken?
My own Araminta, say 'No!'
O think of our favorite cottage,
And think of our dear Lalla Rookh!
How we shared with the milkmaids their pottage,
And drank of the stream from the brook;
How fondly our loving lips faltered,
'What further can grandeur bestow?'
My heart is the same; - is yours altered?
My own Araminta, say 'No!'
Remember the thrilling romances
We read on the bank in the glen;
Remember the suitors our fancies
Would picture for both of us then;
They wore the red cross on their shoulder,
They had vanquished and pardoned their foe -
Sweet friend, are you wiser or colder?
My own Araminta, say 'No!'
poem by Winthrop Mackworth Praed
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Epistle to an Orphan after William Mackworth Praed A Letter of Advice
They tell me you're promised a mother,
to cuddle, to cosset, to care.
Take care for she may try to smother,
to cover her inner despair.
The experts agree that another
could just as well clinch the affair, -
and beware that you never discover
the father who's no longer there.
(Parody William Mackworth PRAED - A Letter 31 October 1990)
A Letter to PH from a Disappointed Writer
Dear PH, I leave you this letter
after writing from ten until nine
for a site I'd delight to know better,
for a smile that my heart can't decline.
Yet one finds after wearily pacing,
for replies in the cold, for some sign,
that that heart which with hope had been racing
to darkest despair must incline.
Dear PH from twelve to eleven
each night I would knock at your door
in hope that an angel from heaven
could show me the light, - but no more
will I screed in my need if no answer
effective can echo joy's store -
I can't act as a puppet-stringed dancer,
not even for one I adore!
Dear PH the time have I waited
day in and day out by grief torn,
all write up down written, ill-fated
as my consonants vowed my vowels scorn.
The wonder my dunderhead brought you
tonight may steal thunder at morn,
but the blossoms whose beauty besought you
fade as fast as last season's drenched corn.
As on Thursday applauseless, defeated,
so on Friday all clauseless I'm spurned,
is the cycle of love thus completed,
is this all the thanks that I've earned?
It is hard for a fool to be taken -
its a sign that one's soft in the head, -
but the reason that slept must awaken,
and the spirit, restored, won't be lead!
I'd have offered you all in my power,
to cherish, to share, to be kind,
I'd have nurtured emotions to flower
and found wings for soul unresigned.
It is not just the whim of an hour
but a lifetime with no chains to bind,
in a warm, in a warm, tender bower
with blank verse, even worse, left behind!
How can I be present tomorrow,
bear false witness with stanzas prewrit?
once again less 'in anger than sorrow'
I will try to bar love from my wit.
I will try to contain my emotion -
or go through the motions to ease
the emptiness born from devotion
to one who my [he]art pleased to tease.
Good luck with your plans to continue
support for the wor[l]d caught in art!
Good luck for the talent that s[w]ings you!
Good luck for a applause the stats chart!
I'll return into cold hibernation
all alone til your smile shines bright through
the slough of despondent elation,
these Elysean fields cropped by few.
Dear PH, ignore to this last letter
should sentiments biased appear,
yet I shall be ever your debtor -
who taught me to share and feel near.
Intuitions are fine for romantic,
inner feelings that flower in dreams,
but a chasm as deep as Atlantic
drowns my talent, it seems, PH, Dear!
So sometimes recall that I follow
your footsteps as forward they flow,
and the shadow which seems to be hollow
is an echo which helps me to know
how the sun shines for YOU as Appollo
his steeds urges onwards, - and though
forgetful nights daily verse swallow
tomorrow dawn's brightness will glow!
(Parody William Mackworth PRAED A Letter of Advice 12 April 2005 revised 19 November 2006)
A Letter of Advice to Margaret Thatcher
You tell me you've taken a lover, -
the Serpent - to suckle at breast,
what took you so long to discover
its worth, that you seemed to detest?
Is it fears of the new German eagle,
which now flies in the skies, to and fro?
Is it fear to appear far less regal?
Prime Minister, Maggie, say 'No! '
You so often set foot in the City
among the stockbrokers and Jews,
until now no-one noticed that pity
assisted in making the News.
Lip service you paid as a token
to E.E.C., more stop than go,
would you now betray promises spoken?
Prime Minister, Maggie, say 'No! '
Dixit Maggie:
The arguments strongly defended
won time, though for whom no-one knows,
the endergy fiercely expended
I now do reverse with my prose!
Don't think that I'm not sympathetic
to common wealth causes, but so
urgently must I seem more magnetic, -
Prime Ministers learn to say 'No! '
Exports are the life of the nation,
and spendthrifts throw eggs from the nest,
why would you now import inflation
why risk fresh electoral test?
You constancy prized, never faltered,
what further can grandeur bestow?
My heart is the same, is yours altered?
Prime Minister, Maggie, say No!
Beware or you'll face resignation
from the ranks of conservative friends,
for instransigence breeds indignation,
a sign that your time nears its end.
Will you bend, or back down from your folly.
On your knees beg to Brussels, kow-tow?
Or defend precious pound, British lolly,
or become Lady Diehard, Soho? ...
Dixit Maggie:
Our infantile logic was stupid,
and once we admitted its flaws,
to Snake turned like Eve to a Cupid!
a fig for Conservative bores!
A policy firm and effective
must govern though markets sink low,
while a girl learns a sense of perspective
at times when she simply says 'No! '
(7 October 1990Parody Winthrop Mackworth PRAED A Letter of Advice)
A Letter of Advice
From Miss Medora Trevilian at Padua
to Miss Araminta Vavasour, in London
Enfin, monsieur, un homme aimable;
Voila: pourquoi je ne saurais l'aimer. Scribe
You tell me you're promised a lover,
My own Araminta, next week;
Why cannot my fancy discover
The hue of his coat and his cheek?
Alas! if he look like another,
A vicar, a banker, a beau,
Be deaf to your father and mother,
My own Araminta, say 'No! '
Miss Lane at her Temple of Fashion,
Taught us both how to sing and to speak,
And we loved one another with passion,
Before we had been there a week:
You gave me a ring for a token;
I wear it wherever I go;
I gave you a chain - is it broken?
My own Araminta, say 'No! '
O think of our favourite cottage,
And think of our dear Lallah Rookh!
How we shared with the milkmaids their pottage,
And drank of the stream from the brook:
How fondly our loving lips faltered
'What further can grandeur bestow?
My heart is the same; - is yours altered?
My own Araminta, say 'No! '
Remember the thrilling romances
We read on the bank in the glen;
Remember the suitors our fancies
Would picture for both of us then.
They wore the red cross on their shoulder,
They had vanquished and pardoned their foe -
Sweet friend, are you wiser or colder?
My own Araminta, say 'No! '
You know, when Lord Rigmarole's carriage
Drove off with your sister Justine,
You wept, dearest girl, at the marriage,
And whispered 'How base she has been! '
You said you were sure it would kill you,
If ever your husband looked so;
And you will apostatize, - will you?
My own Araminta, say 'No! '
When I heard I was going abroad, love,
I thought I was going to die;
We walked arm in arm to the road, love,
We looked arm in arm to the sky;
And I said 'When a foreign postillion
Has hurried me off to the Po,
Forget not Medora Trevilian:
My own Araminta, say 'No! '
We parted! but sympathy's fetters
Reach far over valley and hill;
I muse o'er your exquisite letters,
And feel that your heart is mine still;
And he who would share it with me, love -
The richest of treasure below -
If he's not what Orlando should be, love,
My own Araminta, say 'No! '
If he wears a top-boot in his wooing,
If he comes to you riding a cob,
If he talks of his baking or brewing,
If he puts up his feet on the hob,
If he ever drinks port after dinner,
If his brow, or his breeding is low,
If he calls himself 'Thompson' or 'Skinner',
My own, Araminta, say 'No! '
If he ever sets foot in the City,
Amongst the stockbrokers and Jews,
If he has not a heart full of pity,
If he don't stand six feet in his shoes,
If his lips are not redder than roses,
If his hands are not whiter than snow,
If he has not the model of noses, -
My own Araminta, say 'No! '
If he speaks of a tax or a duty,
If he does not look grand on his knees,
If he's blind to a landscape of beauty,
Hills, valleys, rocks, waters, and trees,
If he dotes not on desolate towers,
If he likes not to hear the blast blow,
If he knows not the language of flowers, -
My own Araminta, say 'No! '
He must walk - like a god of old story
Come down from the home of his rest;
He must smile - like the sun in his glory
On the buds he loves ever the best;
And oh! from its ivory portal
Like music his soft speech must flow! -
If he speak, smile, or walk like a mortal,
My own Araminta, say 'No! '
Don't listen to tales of his bounty,
Don't hear what they say of his birth,
Don't look at his seat in the county,
Don't calculate what he is worth;
But give him a theme to write verse on,
And see if he turns out his toe;
If he's only an excellent person, -
My own Araminta, say 'No! '
Winthrop Mackworth PRAED 1802_1839
The Talented Man
Letter From A Lady In London To A Lady At Lausanne
Dear Alice! you'll laugh when you know it, -
Last week, at the Duchess's ball,
I danced with the clever new poet, -
You've heard of him, - Tully St. Paul.
Miss Jonquil was perfectly frantic;
I wish you had seen Lady Anne!
It really was very romantic,
He is such a talented man!
He came up from Brazen Nose College,
Just caught, as they call it, this spring;
And his head, love, is stuffed full of knowledge
Of every conceivable thing.
Of science and logic he chatters,
As fine and as fast as he can;
Though I am no judge of such matters,
I'm sure he's a talented man.
His stories and jests are delightful; -
Not stories or jests, dear, for you;
The jests are exceedingly spiteful,
The stories not always quite true.
Perhaps to be kind and veracious
May do pretty well at Lausanne;
But it never would answer, - good gracious!
Chez nous - in a talented man.
He sneers, - how my Alice would scold him! -
At the bliss of a sigh or a tear;
He laughed - only think! - when I told him
How we cried o'er Trevelyan last year;
I vow I was quite in a passion;
I broke all the sticks of my fan;
But sentiment's quite out of fashion,
It seems, in a talented man.
Lady Bab, who is terribly moral,
Has told me that Tully is vain,
And apt - which is silly - to quarrel,
And fond - which is sad - of champagne.
I listened, and doubted, dear Alice,
For I saw, when my Lady began,
It was only the Dowager's malice; -
She does hate a talented man!
He's hideous, I own it. But fame, love,
Is all that these eyes can adore;
He's lame, - but Lord Byron was lame, love,
And dumpy, - but so is Tom Moore.
Then his voice, - such a voice! my sweet creature,
It's like your Aunt Lucy's toucan:
But oh! what's a tone or a feature,
When once one's a talented man?
My mother, you know, all the season,
Has talked of Sir Geoffrey's estate;
And truly, to do the fool reason,
He has been less horrid of late.
But to-day, when we drive in the carriage,
I'll tell her to lay down her plan; -
If ever I venture on marriage,
It must be a talented man!
P.S. - I have found, on reflection,
One fault in my friend, - entre nous;
Without it, he'd just be perfection; -
Poor fellow, he has not a sou!
And so, when he comes in September
To shoot with my uncle, Sir Dan,
I've promised mamma to remember
He's only a talented man!
Winthrop Mackworth Praed 1802_1839
A Letter
Dear Kitty,
At length the term's ending;
I 'm in for my Schools in a week;
And the time that at present I'm spending
On you should be spent upon Greek:
But I'm fairly well read in my Plato,
I'm thoroughly red in the eyes,
And I've almost forgotten the way to
Be healthy and wealthy and wise.
So 'the best of all ways' - why repeat you
The verse at 2.30 a.m.,
When I 'm stealing an hour to entreat you
Dear Kitty, to come to Commem.?
Oh, come! You shall rustle in satin
Through halls where Examiners trod:
Your laughter shall triumph o'er Latin
In lecture-room, garden, and quad.
They stand in the silent Sheldonian -
Our orators, waiting - for you,
Their style guaranteed Ciceronian,
Their subject - 'the Ladies in Blue.'
The Vice sits arrayed in his scarlet;
He's pale, but they say he dissem-
-bles by calling his Beadle a 'varlet'
Whenever he thinks of Commem.
There are dances, flirtations at Nuneham,
Flower-shows, the procession of Eights:
There's a list stretching _usque ad Lunam_
Of concerts, and lunches, and fetes:
There's the Newdigate all about 'Gordon, '
- So sweet, and they say it will scan.
You shall flirt with a Proctor, a Warden
Shall run for your shawl and your fan.
They are sportive as gods broken loose from
Olympus, and yet very em-
-inent men. There are plenty to choose from,
You'll find, if you come to Commem.
I know your excuses: Red Sorrel
Has stumbled and broken her knees;
Aunt Phoebe thinks waltzing immoral;
And 'Algy, you are such a tease;
It's nonsense, of course, but she _is_ strict';
And little Dick Hodge has the croup;
And there's no one to visit your 'district'
Or make Mother Tettleby's soup.
Let them cease for a se'nnight to plague you;
Oh, leave them to manage _pro tem_.
With their croups and their soups and their ague)
Dear Kitty, and come to Commem.
Don't tell me Papa has lumbago,
That you haven't a frock fit to wear,
That the curate 'has notions, and may go
To lengths if there's nobody there, '
That the Squire has 'said things' to the Vicar,
And the Vicar 'had words' with the Squire,
That the Organist's taken to liquor,
And leaves you to manage the choir:
For Papa must be cured, and the curate
Coerced, and your gown is a gem;
And the moral is - Don't be obdurate,
Dear Kitty, but come to Commem.
'My gown? Though, no doubt, sir, you're clever,
You 'd better leave fashions alone.
Do you think that a frock lasts for ever? '
Dear Kitty, I'll grant you have grown;
But I thought of my 'scene' with McVittie
That night when he trod on your train
At the Bachelor's Ball. ''Twas a pity, '
You said, but I knew 'twas Champagne.
And your gown was enough to compel me
To fall down and worship its hem -
(Are 'hems' wearing? If not, you shall tell me
What is, when you come to Commem.)
Have you thought, since that night, of the Grotto?
Of the words whispered under the palms,
While the minutes flew by and forgot to
Remind us of Aunt and her qualms?
Of the stains of the old _Journalisten_?
Of the rose that I begged from your hair?
When you turned, and I saw something glisten -
Dear Kitty, don't frown; it _was_ there!
But that idiot Delane in the middle
Bounced in with 'Our dance, I - ahem! '
And - the rose you may find in my Liddell
And Scott when you come to Commem.
Then, Kitty, let 'yes' be the answer.
We'll dance at the 'Varsity Ball,
And the morning shall find you a dancer
In Christ Church or Trinity hall.
And perhaps, when the elders are yawning
And rafters grow pale overhead
With the day, there shall come with its dawning
Some thought of that sentence unsaid.
Be it this, be it that - 'I forget, ' or
'Was joking' - whatever the fem-
-inine fib, you'll have made me your debtor
And come, - you _will_ come? to Commem.
Green Bays Parody 1893 Arthur QUILLER-COUCH
Parody - Winthrop Mackworth PRAED A Letter of Advice
HER LETTER - Francis Bret Harte to William Mackworth Praed
I'm sitting alone by the fire,
Dressed just as I came from the dance,
In a robe even you would admire, -
It cost a cool thousand in France;
I'm be-diamonded out of all reason,
My hair is done up in a cue:
In short, sir, 'the belle of the season'
Is wasting an hour upon you.
A dozen engagements I've broken;
I left in the midst of a set;
Likewise a proposal, half spoken,
That waits - on the stairs - for me yet.
They say he'll be rich, - when he grows up, -
And then he adores me indeed;
And you, sir, are turning your nose up,
Three thousand miles off, as you read.
'And how do I like my position? '
'And what do I think of New York? '
'And now, in my higher ambition,
With whom do I waltz, flirt, or talk? '
'And isn't it nice to have riches,
And diamonds and silks, and all that? '
'And aren't they a change to the ditches
And tunnels of Poverty Flat? '
Well, yes, - if you saw us out driving
Each day in the Park, four-in-hand,
If you saw poor dear mamma contriving
To look supernaturally grand, -
If you saw papa's picture, as taken
By Brady, and tinted at that, -
You'd never suspect he sold bacon
And flour at Poverty Flat.
And yet, just this moment, when sitting
In the glare of the grand chandelier, -
In the bustle and glitter befitting
The 'finest soiree of the year, ' -
In the mists of a gaze de Chambery,
And the hum of the smallest of talk, -
Somehow, Joe, I thought of the 'Ferry, '
And the dance that we had on 'The Fork; '
Of Harrison's bar, with its muster
Of flags festooned over the wall;
Of the candles that shed their soft lustre
And tallow on head-dress and shawl;
Of the steps that we took to one fiddle,
Of the dress of my queer vis-a-vis;
And how I once went down the middle
With the man that shot Sandy McGee.
Of the moon that was quietly sleeping
On the hill, when the time came to go;
Of the few baby peaks that were peeping
From under their bedclothes of snow;
Of that ride, - that to me was the rarest,
Of - the something you said at the gate.
Ah! Joe, then I wasn't an heiress
To 'the best-paying lead in the State.'
Well, well, it's all past; yet it's funny
To think, as I stood in the glare
Of fashion and beauty and money,
That I should be thinking, right there,
Of some one who breasted high water,
And swam the North Fork, and all that,
Just to dance with old Folinsbee's daughter,
The Lily of Poverty Flat.
But goodness! what nonsense I'm writing!
(Mamma says my taste still is low) ,
Instead of my triumphs reciting, -
I'm spooning on Joseph, - heigh-ho!
And I'm to be 'finished' by travel, -
Whatever's the meaning of that.
Oh, why did papa strike pay gravel
In drifting on Poverty Flat?
Good-night! - here's the end of my paper;
Good-night! - if the longitude please, -
For maybe, while wasting my taper,
Your sun's climbing over the trees.
But know, if you haven't got riches,
And are poor, dearest Joe, and all that,
That my heart's somewhere there in the ditches,
And you've struck it, - on Poverty Flat
Francis Bret Harte 1830_1902
Song of a Plebutante
Oh Mumsy, it's the starters of the Season
And here I am with not a thing to wear;
If I'm lucky I may stumble
On a T-shirt in a jumble
That won't look too outrageous in Sloane Square.
I know we really can't afford a party,
With unions pushing Britain down the drain,
And I'm sorry poor old Daddy
Has to borrow from his caddie
And cycle to the City in the rain.
I've had a teeny tete-a-tete with Tanya;
She couldn't fit me in at her boutique,
So I've joined the ranks of labour
With an office job at Faber,
And they're starting me at forty pounds a week.
Oh, getting up at eight won't be too ghastly,
(Fiona says that filing can be fun) ,
But the times they are a-changing
And the marriage you're arranging
Will have to wait until I'm twenty-one.
Oh, Mumsy, please stop crying, there's a darling,
Oh, Daddy, I can't bear it if you shout;
But if Quentin Crisp can do it
There can't be that much to it,
And nothing's going to stop me coming out!
Roger WODDIS 1917_1993
Parody Winthrop Mackworth PRAED A Letter of Advice
A Letter of Advice, to My Godson
TO MY GODSON.
(Aged six weeks)
Small bundle, enveloped in laces,
For whom I stood sponsor last week,
When you slept, with the pinkest of faces,
And never emitted a squeak;
Though vain is the task of illuming
The Future's inscrutable scroll,
I cannot refrain from assuming
A semi-prophetical _role_,
I predict that in paths Montessorian
Your infantile steps will be led,
And with modes which are Phrygian and Dorian
Your musical appetite fed;
You'll be taught how to dance by a Russian,
'Eurhythmics' you'll learn from a Swiss,
How not to behave like a Prussian-
No teaching is needed for this!
Will you learn Esperanto at Eton?
Or, if Eton by then is suppressed,
Be sent to grow apples or wheat on
A ranche in the ultimate West?
Will you aim at a modern diploma
In civics or commerce or stinks?
Inhale the Wisconsin aroma
Or think as the Humanist thinks?
Will you learn to play tennis from COVEY
Or model your stroke on JAY GOULD?
Will you play the piano like TOVEY
Or by gramophone records be schooled?
Will you golf, or will golfing be banished
To answer the needs of the plough,
And links from the landscape have vanished
To pasture the sheep and the cow?
Your taste in the region of letters
I only can dimly foresee,
But guess that from metrical fetters
The verse you'll affect must be free;
And I shan't be surprised or astounded
If your generation rebels
Against adulation unbounded
Of MASEFIELD and BENNETT and WELLS.
Upholding ancestral tradition
Your uncle has booked you at Lord's,
But I doubt if you'll sate your ambition
Athletic on well-levelled swards;
No, I rather opine that you'll follow
The lead that we owe to the WRIGHTS,
And soar like the eagle or swallow
On far and adventurous flights.
But no matter-in joy and affliction,
In seasons of failure or fame,
I cherish the certain conviction
You'll never dishonour your name;
For the love of the mother that bore you,
The life and the death of your sire
Will shine as a lantern before you,
To guide and exalt and inspire.
Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 152, March 28,1917
Author Unknown Parody William Mackworth Praed
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Smoke
Last summer, lazing by the sea,
I met a most entrancing creature,
Her black eyes quite bewildered me---
She had a Spanish cast of feature.
She often smoked a cigarette,
And did it in the cutest fashion.
Before a week passed by she set
My young heart in a raging passion.
I swore I loved her as my life,
I gave her gems (don't tell my tailor).
She promised to become my wife,
But whispered, 'Papa is my jailer.'
'We must be very sly, you see,
For Papa will not list to reason.
You must not come to call on me
Until he's gone from home a season.
'I'll send you word, now don't forget,
Take this as pledge, I will remember.'
She gave me a perfumed cigarette,
And turned and left me with September.
To-day she sent her 'cards' to me.
'My presence asked' to see her marry
That millionaire old banker C---
She has my 'presents,' so I'll tarry.
And still I feel a keen regret
(About the jewels that I gave her)
I've smoked the little cigarette---
It had a most delicious flavour.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Last Week
Oh, the new-chum went to the backblock run,
But he should have gone there last week.
He tramped ten miles with a loaded gun,
But of turkey of duck saw never a one,
For he should have been there last week,
They said,
There were flocks of 'em there last week.
He wended his way to a waterfall,
And he should have gone there last week.
He carried a camera, legs and all,
But the day was hot and the stream was small,
For he should have gone there last week,
They said,
They drowned a man there last week.
He went for a drive, and he made a start,
Which should have been made last week,
For the old horse died of a broken heart;
So he footed it home and he dragged the cart --
But the horse was all right last week,
They said,
He trotted a match last week.
So he asked all the bushies who came from afar
To visit the town last week
If the'd dine with him, and they said "Hurrah!"
But there wasn't a drop in the whisky jar --
You should have been here last week,
He said,
I drank it all up last week!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The End Of May
'Our governess is not in school,
So we may talk a bit;
Sit down upon this little stool,
Come, little Mary, sit:
'And, my dear playmate, tell me why
In dismal black you're drest?
Why does the tear stand in your eye?
With sobs why heaves your breast?
'When we're in grief, it gives relief
Our sorrows to impart;
When you've told why, my dear, you cry,
'Twill ease your little heart.'
'O, it is trouble very bad
Which causes me to weep;
All last night long we were so sad,
Not one of us could sleep.
'Beyond the seas my father went,
'Twas very long ago;
And he last week a letter sent
(I told you so, you know)
'That he was safe in Portsmouth bay,
And we should see him soon,
Either the latter end of May,
Or by the first of June.
'The end of May was yesterday,
We all expected him;
And in our best clothes we were dressed,
Susan, and I, and Jim.
'O how my poor dear mother smiled,
And clapped her hands for joy;
She said to me, 'Come here, my child,
And Susan, and my boy.
''Come all, and let us think,' said she,
'What we can do to please
Your father, for to-day will he
Come home from off the seas.
''That you have won, my dear young son,
A prize at school, we'll tell,
Because you can, my little man,
In writing all excel:
''And you have made a poem, nearly
All of your own invention:
Will not your father love you dearly
When this to him I mention?
''Your sister Mary, she can say
Your poetry by heart;
And to repeat your verses may
Be little Mary's part.
''Susan, for you, I'll say you do
Your needlework with care,
And stitch so true the wristbands new
Dear father's soon to wear!'
''O hark!' said James; 'I hear one speak;
'Tis like a seaman's voice.'-
Our mother gave a joyful shriek;
How did we all rejoice!
''My husband's come!' 'My father's here!'
But O, alas, it was not so;
It was not as we said:
A stranger seaman did appear,
On his rough cheek there stood a tear,
For he brought to us a tale of woe,-
Our father dear was dead.'
poem by Charles Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Diamond Ring
He gave me a diamond ring, he did.
He gave me a diamond ring.
He gave me a song to sing, he did.
He gave me a song to sing.
I wore that ring night and day
but the song just went away.
'Cause my heart knew something wasn't right
when I heard him say,
'I'm gonna need that ring for a while.
I'll get you another soon.'
He took my ring and off he went
whistlin' a tune.
I recognized that tune you see.
It was the song he gave me to sing.
And so I followed the sound of the tune
and saw what he did to my ring.
He gave it to another fool
and gave her a song to sing.
My heart said to me night and day,
'That ring didn't mean a thing.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ode--'On A Distant Prospect' Of Making A Fortune
Now the 'rosy morn appearing'
Floods with light the dazzled heaven;
And the schoolboy groans on hearing
That eternal clock strike seven:-
Now the waggoner is driving
Towards the fields his clattering wain;
Now the bluebottle, reviving,
Buzzes down his native pane.
But to me the morn is hateful:
Wearily I stretch my legs,
Dress, and settle to my plateful
Of (perhaps inferior) eggs.
Yesterday Miss Crump, by message,
Mentioned 'rent,' which 'p'raps I'd pay;'
And I have a dismal presage
That she'll call, herself, to-day.
Once, I breakfasted off rosewood,
Smoked through silver-mounted pipes -
Then how my patrician nose would
Turn up at the thought of 'swipes!'
Ale,--occasionally claret, -
Graced my luncheon then:- and now
I drink porter in a garret,
To be paid for heaven knows how.
When the evening shades are deepened,
And I doff my hat and gloves,
No sweet bird is there to 'cheep and
Twitter twenty million loves:'
No dark-ringleted canaries
Sing to me of 'hungry foam;'
No imaginary 'Marys'
Call fictitious 'cattle home.'
Araminta, sweetest, fairest!
Solace once of every ill!
How I wonder if thou bearest
Mivins in remembrance still!
If that Friday night is banished
Yet from that retentive mind,
When the others somehow vanished,
And we two were left behind:-
When in accents low, yet thrilling,
I did all my love declare;
Mentioned that I'd not a shilling -
Hinted that we need not care:
And complacently you listened
To my somewhat long address -
(Listening, at the same time, isn't
Quite the same as saying Yes).
Once, a happy child, I carolled
O'er green lawns the whole day through,
Not unpleasingly apparelled
In a tightish suit of blue:-
What a change has now passed o'er me!
Now with what dismay I see
Every rising morn before me!
Goodness gracious, patience me!
And I'll prowl, a moodier Lara,
Through the world, as prowls the bat,
And habitually wear a
Cypress wreath around my hat:
And when Death snuffs out the taper
Of my Life, (as soon he must),
I'll send up to every paper,
'Died, T. Mivins; of disgust.'
poem by Charles Stuart Calverley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Oh How That German Could Love!
[1st verse:]
Once I got stuck on a sweet little German
And oh what a German was she
The best that was walking, well what's the use talking
Was just made to order for me
So lovely, and witty, more yet she was pretty
You don't know until you have tried
She had such a figure, it couldn't be bigger
And there was some more yet beside
[chorus:]
Oh how that German could love
With a feeling that came from the heart
She called me her honey, her angel, her money
She pushed ev'ry word out so smart
She spoke like a speaker, and oh what a speech
Like no other speaker could speak
Ach my what a German when she kissed her Herman
It stayed on my cheek for a week
[2nd verse:]
This girl could squeeze, and it never would hurt
For that lady knew just how to squeeze
Her loving was killing, more yet she was willing
You never would have to say please
I just couldn't stop her, for dinner and supper
Some kisses and hugs was the food
When she wasn't nice it was more better twice
When she's bad she was better than good
[2nd chorus]
Oh how that German could love
With a sweetness that's sweeter than sweet
Just say what you please, you would hug and you'd squeeze
Just the shoes that she wore on her feet
Her smile was like money that somebody owed you
That somebody wanted to give
When you felt like dying and she started sighing
Ach my it was worthwhile to live
[3rd verse:]
Sometimes we'd love for a week at a time
And it only would seem like a day
How well I remember, one night in December
I felt like the middle of May
I'll bet all I'm worth that when she came on earth
All the angels went out on parade
No other one turned up, I think that they burned up
The pattern from which she was made
[3rd chorus:]
Oh how that German could love
With a love like you see in a play
When she said, "My dear," it would ring in my ear
For a year, and a week and a day
Her no was like yes, and her yes was like no
It was something like yes, it was, well
When we got together ach donner und vetter
'Twas love with a capital "L
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Remember When
Remember when I was young and so were you
And time stood still and love was all we knew
You were the first, so was I
We made love and then you cried
Remember when
Remember when we vowed the vows
and walked the walk
Gave our hearts, made the start, it was hard
We lived and learned, life threw curves
There was joy, there was hurt
Remember when
Remember when old ones died and new were born
And life was changed, disassembled, rearranged
We came together, fell apart
And broke each other's hearts
Remember when
Remember when the sound of little feet
was the music
We danced to week to week
Brought back the love, we found trust
Vowed we'd never give it up
Remember when
Remember when thirty seemed so old
Now lookin' back, it's just a steppin' stone
To where we are,
where we've been
Said we'd do it all again
Remember when
Remember when we said when we turned gray
When the children grow up and move away
We won't be sad, we'll be glad
For all the life we've had
And we'll remember when
Remember when
Remember when
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Thank You In Advance
Excuse me, I know we just met
But may I have this dance?
Sitting here with a drink in my hand
Your presence I can't ignore
I must admit I like watching you dance
But it seems like I've seen this before
Girl, you look like my first wife
Though I've never been married before
So I kiss your hand and tell you "Thank you"
You turn and ask me what for
For our first kiss, oh, next week
For when we make love, it seems sweet (?)
For the ring you wore probably three months from now
For when you said "I do" next March
And for those beautiful children of ours
Yes, I know it might sound strange cuz we just met
But I thank you in advance
(Shawn, help me sing it)
Hi, my name is Shawn
Tell me your name
Although I know the last one
It's funny that we're shaking hands
[Wait a minute, I know this hand]
It's the same hand (I'll hold in front of a minister)
Same hand (when you're havin' my son and his sister)
I don't mean to sound so bold and forward
But I thank you in advance
For our first kiss, oh, next week
For when we make love, it seems sweet (?)
For the ring you wore probably three months from now
For when you said "I do" next March
And for those beautiful children of ours
Yes, I know it might sound strange cuz we just met
But I thank you in advance
It's like I came back in time to tell you thank you
You were as beautiful then as you are now
Look in the mirror, there is a picture
Of you and the man you love
For our first kiss, oh, next week
For when we make love, it seems sweet (?)
For the ring you wore probably three months from now
For when you said "I do" next March
And for those beautiful children of ours
Yes, I know it might sound strange cuz we just met
But I thank you in advance
For our first kiss, oh, next week
For when we make love, it seems sweet (?)
For the ring you wore probably three months from now
For when you said "I do" next March
And for those beautiful children of ours
Yes, I know it might sound strange cuz we just met
But I thank you in advance
I, I, I, I, I
I thank you in advance, ooh
Ooh ooh ooh
song performed by by Boyz II Men
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
No, No, No/a Little Story
No!!
Let me take my scarf off,
No, no, no, yes, yes, yes.
Dont help me, (help me)
I can do it and you know it.
Dont touch me, (touch me)
I dont like it.
Let me take my blouse off,
No, no, no, yes, yes, yes.
Dont help me, (help me)
I can do it and you know it.
Dont touch me, (touch me)
I dont like it.
You promised me, you promised me,
You promised me, you promised me.
I dont remember what you promised,
I know you didnt keep it.
Let me take my pants off,
No, no, no, yes, yes, yes.
Dont hold me, (hold me)
I dont want it.
Youre thinking of rock hudson when we do it. (lets do it!)
Let me take my ring off,
No, no, no, yes, yes, yes.
Dont do it, (do it!)
I cant do it,
Im seeing broke glass when we do it. (do it!)
You promised me, you promised me,
You promised me, you promised me.
I dont remember what we promised,
But I know we didnt keep it.
You promised me, you promised me,
You promised me, you promised me.
I dont remember what we promised,
But I miss you!
- once there was this little boy who asked his father,
Would you tell me that old, old story?
Once there was this little boy who asked his father,
Would you tell me that old, old story?
Once there was this little boy and he went to...
- mummy...you should remember this more because dyou know why?
- why?
- I learnt it from my daddy, you know.
- umm-umm.
- hah-hah.
- once there was this little boy who asked his father
To tell him that old, old, old, old, old, old story.
Once upon a time there was this little boy who said,
Would you tell me that old, old story?
Once upon...
- you could see...it can end anywhere!
It can end...its just a little story.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Dear And Sweet
Dear sweet and loving wife
You give me love and also life
You give me happiness and never strife
Without you my love how could I survive.
You have turned our house into a home
The love we have it is always shown
Together forever in life we’ve been sewn
Never will we ever be sad or alone.
When I am off to work I think about you
As I know there will always be us two
To live without your love I have not a clue
When we sleep at night my soul you soothe.
Dear sweet and loving mother
As I know like you there is no other
You keep me warmth you are my cover
You gave me life and also life to discover.
You kiss me goodnight when I go to sleep
When I am sad you help me not to weep
No steps you said for me are ever to steep
You taught me truth and not deceit.
You taught me honesty and never to lie
Honor and pride you said will be at my side
Because of you I wear a smile at night
As you gave me love and you gave me might.
Dear sweet and loving mistress
Does your husband know you are my misses
For myself you will cheat as you undress
Your children do not know that you never confess.
You come visit me when your family is asleep
You sneak out your house so not to make a peep
As my life and myself is all that you seek
I wonder does anyone know the secrets we do keep.
When your husband is at work you are thinking about me
When your children are at school you are free
Whatever I say or do you will always believe
Hopefully the truth you will never find or see.
Dear mean and hateful woman
You have done again things that you shouldn’t
Though we are all weak and only human
You have done things that any other couldn’t.
You suppose to give your family your very best
So your soul and life would of been blessed
But then you gave your feelings to all the rest
In love and life you should never start another quest.
But in the end of course you will be caught
You lied to everyone and against what you taught
Righteousness and love and truth you never sought
Your body has been sold and your soul has been bought.
Randy L.McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Remember, I Remember
I remember, I remember
The house where I was born;
The rent was thirty-two a month,
Which made my father mourn.
He said he could remember when
His father paid the rent;
And when a man's expenses did
Not take his every cent.
I remember, I remember--
My mother telling my cousin
That eggs had gone to twenty-six
Or seven cents a dozen;
And how she told my father that
She didn't like to speak
Of things like that, but Bridget now
Demanded four a week.
I remember, I remember--
And with a mirthless laugh--
My weekly board at college took
A jump to three and a half.
I bought an eighteen-dollar suit,
And father told me, "Sonny,
I'll pay the bill this time, but, Oh,
I am not made out of money!"
I remember, I remember,
When I was young and brave
And I declared, "Well, Birdie, we
Shall now begin to save."
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from wealth
Than when I was a boy.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dear Grandma
Dear Grandma, I remember
When you were there for me
Dear Grandma, I remember
Your smile was a joy to see
Dear Grandma, I remember
The wonderful dinners I had
I remember how you cared
You dried my tears when I was sad
Dear Grandma, I remember
All the wonderful things you gave
You would let us play around
You would always be there to wave
Dear Grandma, I remember
All your loving care
Helping when I was sick
You were always there
Dear Grandma, I remember
That you are there for me yet
Always a comfort to me
Dear Grandma, I wont forget
Little Minnie
Air -- "In the Cottage by the Sea"
Come listen to a painful story
A mother is going to tell,
For her heart is over-flowing
For that one she loved so well.
It's of a little infant daughter,
Mild and lovely, bright and fair --
She has left this world forever,
Left this world of grief and care.
Chorus --
Alone, all alone
In the grave yard she is sleeping,
That little one we loved so well --
God her little soul is keeping,
For he doeth all things well.
Oh! how sadly we'll remember,
On a bright and pleasant day --
It was the very last of summer
That her spirit fled away;
Fled away from earth forever,
Gone to dwell with Him above,
Where little angels dwell together
In His everlasting love.
Oh! we miss our little Minnie,
With blue eyes and flaxen hair --
Oh, we loved our little Minnie,
And we miss her every where;
Yes, we miss her at the table
Every morning, noon and night,
While she sat with us together,
For she was our heart's delight.
On the twenty-fifth of August,
Eighteen hundred and seventy-three,
God he called her then to leave us,
And a parting had to be.
As the day it was declining,
The sun was down behind the trees,
Little Minnie she was dying,
Her little soul it had to leave.
Left this world of earthly trouble
And her friends that loved her dear,
Father, mother, sister, brother,
Her place with them is vacant here.
Her little soul is at rest forever
In our Father's heavenly home,
Her little form is sweetly sleeping
In the cold and silent tomb.
Oh! she was our eldest daughter,
She was handsome to behold --
Every one that knew her loved her,
And her age was four years old.
And we miss her merry laughter,
Through the house she used to roam --
That little one, we'll not forget her
In our dear and loving home.
Oh! how oft-times we have kissed her
And caressed her little form --
God of heaven knows we loved her
From the day that she was born.
On a day of independence,
Eighteen hundred and sixty-nine,
God he gave to us a present
Of that little girl so fine.
poem by Julia A Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Born Under A Star
Do you remember the story, of the Bethlehem Star
There in that land long ago, and so very far
I know it is hard for us to see
To fathom or even believe
But do you remember, that day, there at Gethsemane
There at that place, for you and even me
Oh...Ohoo... And then, there again, at Calvary
There his life, for me and even thee
Now can we understand about that shining bright light
That glorious birth, for us to remember, for ever that night
Now you know why, His birth under a star
Our Saviour sacrificed, gave us everything, from that land afar
The Prince of Peace, taught how to love
Remember, to forgive, and how to pray, to Father above
His promised love
Has broken the chains, that surround our hearts
Love and tears and then floods, began to start
Washing, burning relif, for our souls
His promised love, made us completely whole
His promised love, has carried us just so far
Giving us love, and everything, even yet
Born in a manger, under that star
poem by Clyde Bryson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Remember When I Gave You That Rose?
Remember
Those times of yesteryear?
Remember
That night I held you near?
Remember
How we were so close?
Remember
That song we always chose?
Remember
The way we shared our mind?
Remember
How we were one of a kind?
Remember
Those words you spoke to me?
Remember
How clearly we would often see?
Remember
Your beauty and escentric pose?
remember
When I gave you that rose?
poem by White Tiger
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poppy Day
As we remember them,
Our hearts weep, our thoughts are deep,
As we remember them,
A Mother, a Father, Sister, or Brother,
We remember them,
A friend to the last, or a friend from the past,
We remember them,
Looking up at the night sky, as time goes by,
We remember them,
A new star in the sky, as a loved one dies,
We remember them,
Yet in our thoughts they will never die,
We remember them,
Time will heal our pain; we will see them again,
We remember them,
Celebrate in their memory, Rejoice that they lived.
As we remember them.
For those that have passed on
poem by Tanith Ayesha
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Things To Be Remembered
Remember your hope not your blue
Remember your share not your dues
Remember your laugh not your tears
Remember your courage not your fear
Remember your gain not your vain
Remember your joys not your pain
Remember your smile not your cross
Remember your victory not your loss
And when you'll lerarn to remember all this
Then God's huge bucket of his bliss
Will fall upon you and your fate
To tell how much God is great
And always remember this little thing
That God's gift keeps on moving in a ring
So keep on counting my dear friend
For blessings of God has no bound nor ends.
poem by Seema Chowdhury
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
All You Need
One sweet kiss that still does linger
on your lips, touched by a finger
is all you need to picture the face
of a lover that will linger.
One tender embrace you still can feel
on your body your arms entwine
is all you need to remember the one
that is your valentine.
One gentle smile you can picture still
in your mind or reverie
is all you need to recall the thrill
your lover gave to thee.
One soft touch that is felt by you
whenever you're alone
is all you need to keep you alive
'Til your lover comes back home.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
No, No, No
No!!
Let me take my scarf off,
No, no, no, yes, yes, yes.
Dont help me, (help me)
I can do it and you know it.
Dont touch me, (touch me)
I dont like it.
Let me take my blouse off,
No, no, no, yes, yes, yes.
Dont help me, (help me)
I can do it and you know it.
Dont touch me, (touch me)
I dont like it.
You promised me, you promised me,
You promised me, you promised me.
I dont remember what you promised,
I know you didnt keep it.
Let me take my pants off,
No, no, no, yes, yes, yes.
Dont hold me, (hold me)
I dont want it.
Youre thinking of rock hudson when we do it. (lets do it!)
Let me take my ring off,
No, no, no, yes, yes, yes.
Dont do it, (do it!)
I cant do it,
Im seeing broken glass when we do it. (do it!)
You promised me, you promised me,
You promised me, you promised me.
I dont remember what we promised,
But I know we didnt keep it.
You promised me, you promised me,
You promised me, you promised me.
I dont remember what we promised,
But I miss you!
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!