Melisinda's Misfortune
Tired with business of the day,
Upon her couch supinely lay
Fair Melisinda void of care,
No living creature being near:
When straight a calm and gentle sleep
Did o'er her drowsy eyelids creep;
Her senses thus be fetters tied,
By nimble fancy were supplied:
Her quick imagination brought
The ideas of her waking thought.
She dreamt herself a new made bride
In bed, by young Philander's side:
The posset eat, the stocking throw,
And all the company withdrawn;
And now the blest Elysium,
Of all her wished for joys, is come.
Philander, all dissolved in charms,
Lies raptured in her circling arms,
With panting breasts and swimming eyes
She meets the visionary joys;
In all the amorous postures love,
Which the height of ecstasy could move;
But as she roving did advance
Her trembling legs, O dire mischance!
The couch being near the fireside,
She expanded them, alas! too wide:
She exposed her nethermost attire
Unto the embraces of the fire;
So the chaste Phoenix of the East
With fluttering fires her spicy nest.
The flames at first did trembling seize
The dangling hem of the lost prize;
But finding no resistance, higher
As 'tis their nature to aspire,
Approaching near the seat of bliss,
The centre of earthly happiness,
Which vastly more of pleasure yields,
Than all the feigned Elysian fields.
At last the flames were grown so rude,
They boldly everywhere intrude;
They soon recalled the lady's sense,
And chased the pleasing vision thence:
Soon as her eyes recovered light,
She straight beheld the dismal sight.
Then viewing of her half-burnt smock,
Thus to herself the sad nymph spoke:
"Is this the effect of dreams? Is this
The fruit of all my fancy's bliss?
Misfortunes will, I see, betide,
When maidens throw their legs too wide:
Had I but kept my legs across,
I and my smock had had no loss:
I ought, I'm sure, to have more heed,
For ne'er had virgin greater need:
My kindness and my little care
Has left me scarce a smock to wear.
But I could bear the loss of them
Had not the fire disturbed my dream.
Ah! cruel flames, you're too unkind
To chase these fancies from my mind:
Down, down into your native cell
In your own blazing regions dwell:
Vex me no more, let me possess
My linen, or my dream in peace.
Thus the poor nymph, bewailed her treacherous luck,
At once to lose so good a dream and smock.
poem by Thomas Brown
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
What The Captain Said
They made the fire so they want it to spread
the fire, the fire, the fire
They fan the flame to the forest bed
and the flames grew
higher, and higher, and higher
Remember what the captain said by the oceanside
where we took our ride
'We want no more soldiers dead, so come see us by the fire; '
Prometheus desire, the fire
by the fire, as the flames grow higher
We lay upon our riverbed, upon the Styx
the mosh pit Styx upon the pyre
Eyes wide, quartered dry, heads to the sky
and they watch the flames grow higher, and higher,
the fire
poem by Jay Bradley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Magic & Loss - The Summation
When you pass through the fire, you pass through humble
You pass through a maze of self doubt
When you pass through humble, the lights can blind you
Some people never figure that out
You pass through arrogance, you pass through hurt
You pass through an ever present past
And its best not to wait for luck to save you
Pass through the fire to the light
Pass through the fire to the light
Pass through the fire to the light
Its best not to wait for luck to save you
Pass through the fire to the light
As you pass through the fire, your right hand waving
There are things you have to throw out
That caustic dread inside your head
Will never help you out
You have to be very strong, cause youll start from zero
Over and over again
And as the smoke clears theres an all consuming fire
Lying straight ahead
Lying straight ahead
Lying straight ahead
As the smoke clears theres an all consuming fire
Lying straight ahead
They say no one person can do it all
But you want to in your head
But you cant be shakespeare and you cant be joyce
So what is left instead
Youre stuck with yourself and a rage that can hurt you
You have to start at the beginning again
And just this moment this wonderful fire
Started up again
When you pass through humble, when you pass through sickly
When you pass through Im better than you all
When you pass through anger and self deprecation
And have the strength to acknowledge it all
When the past makes you laugh and you can savor the magic
That let you survive your own war
You find that that fire is passion
And theres a door up ahead not a wall
As you pass through fire as you pass through fire
Trying to remember its name
When you pass through fire licking at your lips
You cannot remain the same
And if the buildings burning move towards that door
But dont put the flames out
Theres a bit of magic in everything
And then some loss to even things out
Some loss to even things out
Some loss to even things out
Theres a bit of magic in everything
And then some loss to even things out
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Do You Dream About?
Have you ever met anybody who does not dream?
All of us have dreamt of something good or bad before
Some dreams are believed to foretell the future
While few dreams remind us of things we have forgotten
Other dreams are just hallucination and nightmare
What do you dream about?
Some people dream every night
While the others dream once a while
Do you dream straight or opposite?
To dream straight is to see a vision
To dream straight is to have a revelation
Is your dream good, bad or frightening?
Has your dream ever come true?
Do you day-dream or dream while you sleep?
What do you really dream about?
Politicians dream of winning elections
Students dream of passing exams
Soldiers dream of winning battles
Everybody dreams of promotion on the job
Fishermen dream of catching lots of fishes
Some men see their future wives in a vision
Few women see their future husbands in a dream
Almost everybody dreams of winning the lottery
What do you actually dream about?
Many see their enemies in a dream
Few see their true friends in a vision
Others found solutions to their problems in a dream
Can we live on earth without dreaming?
Your answer is as good as mine
Whatever you may dream about
I hope your good dreams come true
poem by Julius Babarinsa
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Though words may change some things do not
Her husband was a bedswerver.
A braggart who did not deserve her.
But she herself a Bellibone.
Had she but known. Had she but Known
his character before they wed
then she would not have graced his bed.
He was smock sniffer through and through.
The vows he made were all untrue.
He treats her as a draggletail.
Her protests all to no avail.
Which leaves her with no other choice
but file the papers for divorce.
And this she does successfully
He has to pay alimony
She lives alone now happily
At his expense completely free.
She will not be again redmod
A beaten child still fears the rod.
No longer foolishly naïve
she believes all men deceive.
Glossary of obsolete words
Bedswerver unfaithful husband
Bellibone a sweet and innocent woman.
Draggletail a prostitute
Smock sniffer a philander.
Redmod Hastily.
4-Sep-08 http: // blog.myspace.com/poetic piers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Though words may change something do not
Her husband was a bedswerver.
A braggart who did not deserve her.
But she herself a bellibone.
Had she but known. Had she but Known
his character before they wed
then she would not have graced his bed.
He was smock sniffer through and through.
The vows he made were all untrue.
He treats her as a draggletail.
Her protests all to no avail.
Which leaves her with no other choice
but file the papers for divorce.
And this she does successfully
He has to pay alimony
She lives alone now happily
At his expense completely free.
She will not be again redmod
A beaten child still fears the rod.
No longer foolishly naïve
she believes all men deceive.
Glossary of obsolete words
Bedswerver unfaithful husband
Bellibone a sweet and innocent woman.
Draggletail a prostitute
Smock sniffer a philander.
Redmod Hastily.
4-Sep-08 http: // blog.myspace.com/poetic piers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dream
All trembling in my arms Aminta lay,
Defending of the bliss I strove to take;
Raising my rapture by her kind delay,
Her force so charming was and weak.
The soft resistance did betray the grant,
While I pressed on the heaven of my desires;
Her rising breasts with nimbler motions pant;
Her dying eyes assume new fires.
Now to the height of languishment she grows,
And still her looks new charms put on;
– Now the last mystery of Love she knows,
We sigh, and kiss: I waked, and all was done.
`Twas but a dream, yet by my heart I knew,
Which still was panting, part of it was true:
Oh how I strove the rest to have believed;
Ashamed and angry to be undeceived!
poem by Aphra Behn
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City Visions
I
As the blind Milton's memory of light,
The deaf Beethoven's phantasy of tone,
Wroght joys for them surpassing all things known
In our restricted sphere of sound and sight,--
So while the glaring streets of brick and stone
Vix with heat, noise, and dust from morn till night,
I will give rein to Fancy, taking flight
From dismal now and here, and dwell alone
With new-enfranchised senses. All day long,
Think ye 't is I, who sit 'twixt darkened walls,
While ye chase beauty over land and sea?
Uplift on wings of some rare poet's song
Where the wide billow laughs and leaps and falls,
I soar cloud-high, free as the winds are free.
II
Who grasps the substance? who 'mid shadows strays?
He who within some dark-bright wood reclines,
'Twixt sleep and waking, where the needled pines
Have cushioned al his couch with soft brown sprays?
He notes not how the living water shines,
Trembling along the cliff, a flickering haze,
Brimming a wine-bright pool, nor lifts his gaze
To read the ancient wonders and the signs.
Does he possess the actual, or do I,
Who paint on air more than his sense receives,
The glittering pine-tufts with closed eyes behold,
Breathe the strong resinous perfume, see the sky
Quiver like azure flame between the leaves,
And open unseen gates with key of gold?
poem by Emma Lazarus
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Subconscious
Over there
In parallel time,
This brain -
Neuronal palimpsest
In striptease
Blood-red dawn to dying dusk;
The husk of bone
Stays the swelling
Of the soul
Within its hellish crypt -
Ironically dimensionless:
Dark deep,
An independent entity
Perambulates
Along the promenade,
Boulevard,
Tacky yard of tacky lives
In non-existence,
A shard of me in tow,
Then scurries back to
Promiscuity -
She drools, anticipating -
Poised legs of cogitation
Tingle, brim, desperate -
The imminence of dreams
Palpates.
Such a well-warn bed,
Where fucks with notion, thought,
Imagination,
Spark an orgy
While the conscious blacks in head
And eyes;
Mulling making sense
Beyond the lies against
Reality - whatever that might be -
(But matters not
In abstract dreams) :
Forebrain greys in waking;
I've not a word to tell it! -
Where's the poet?
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2012
A Drifting Trail of Dreams
dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream
dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream dream
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lost One, Have One
Everyone have a dream
Some go, some withdraaw
I went and went far
I had a dream
I have a dream
I dreamt with open eyes
Dreamt with two
One for heart
Another for family
One dissolved, another resolved
One dream happens once
Once in life, once for all
Fortunately it happend to me
Unfortunately was broken
Lost one, have one
I had a dream
To defend her at heart
Be in her arms
Set her in my eyes
Spend an age for her
I had a dream
To live with her
Make a family of her
It was a whole half
Remained only with half
Dreamt her to become
My piece, My sprit
This was a heart dream
This was a lost dream
Dream of every second in a minute.
I have a dream
Get a good name
A standard fame
Rank in the starta
Obidient son extra
I have a dream
Making my brothers proud
Being high in crowd
Hearing my talks in class
Name in mass of every class
I have a dream
Be loyal to my mom
Glad to be a son of her
Pleasure to be a son of my dad
Satisfied as a son of them
I have a dream
Be with my family
Respect my family
Tradition what has changed in others
Let not change for me forever
I have a dream
See my dad happy
Feel my mom, s love
Be under my brothers care
In one home till the end
I have a dream
To become the best teacher
To become the best friend
To become the best citizen
To my students, Friends and nation
I have a dream
Regain the tradition
Decentralize the vulgarity
Bring back the chastity
Let the birth have naturality.
I have a dream
Make my lost dream alive
Set her in my growth
Experience her in my growth
Measure my beats in her
I have a dream
To still her with me
Spear my hear in her heart
To fulfill my left dream
Being in her, with her
A dream is designed
By many hopes and desires.
A dream is built.
With true emotions and Feelings.
A dream is a teacher
To a student.
Dream is a beauty
Where charm never departs.
A dream is a lover
To a true lover.
Dream is a timer
Felt when aparted.
Dream is a talent
Possesed by few.
Dream is a substance
For a every art.
Dream is a dream
When it is fulfilled.
Dream is also a dream
When it is broken.
Dream is a colour in ones life
Dream is happiness.
Which can be persuaded
Only persuaded not have.
I had two dreams
Lost one, have one.
poem by Abhimanyu Kumar.s
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The Story of Phœbus and Daphne, Applied
Thyrsis, a youth of the inspired train,
Fair Sacharissa lov'd, but lov'd in vain;
Like Phœbus sung the no less amorous boy;
Like Daphne she, as lovely, and as coy;
With numbers he the flying nymph pursues,
With numbers such as Phœbus' self might use;
Such is the chase when Love and Fancy leads,
O'er craggy mountains, and through flow'ry meads;
Invok'd to testify the lover's care,
Or form some image of his cruel fair:
Urg'd with his fury, like a wounded deer,
O'er these he fled; and now approaching near,
Had reach'd the nymph with his harmonious lay,
Whom all his charms could not incline to stay.
Yet what he sung in his immortal strain,
Though unsuccessful, was not sung in vain;
All but the nymph that should redress his wrong,
Attend his passion, and approve his song.
Like Phœbus thus, acquiring unsought praise,
He catch'd at love, and fill'd his arm with bays.
poem by Edmund Waller
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To My Lady
When the tender hand of Night
Like a rose-leaf falls
Softly on your starry eyes;
When the Sleep-God calls,
And the gate of dreams is wide,
Wide the painted halls,
Dream the dream I send to you
Through your spirit’s walls!
Dream a lowly lover came,
Lady fair to woo;
Dream that I the lover was,
And the lady—you;
Dream your answer was a kiss,
Warm as summer dew—
Waking, in the rosy dawn,
Let the dream be true!
poem by Victor James Daley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet I: Favour'd by Heav'n
Favour'd by Heav'n are those, ordain'd to taste
The bliss supreme that kindles fancy's fire;
Whose magic fingers sweep the muses' lyre,
In varying cadence, eloquently chaste!
Well may the mind, with tuneful numbers grac'd,
To Fame's immortal attributes aspire,
Above the treach'rous spells of low desire,
That wound the sense, by vulgar joys debas'd.
For thou, blest POESY! with godlike pow'rs
To calm the miseries of man wert giv'n;
When passion rends, and hopeless love devours,
By mem'ry goaded, and by frenzy driv'n,
'Tis thine to guide him 'midst Elysian bow'rs,
And shew his fainting soul,--a glimpse of Heav'n.
poem by Mary Darby Robinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Messalina
The gloss is fading from your hair,
The glamour from your brow;
The light your eyes were wont to wear
Attracts no gazer now.
O'er sunny forehead, smiling lips,
And cheeks of rosy roundness, slips
A cruel, premature eclipse,
Time should not yet allow.
I think of one whose homestead lies
A stone's-throw from your own,
Who, spite of sorrow in her eyes,
Hath but more comely grown;
Who, robbed while scarce a four-year's bride,
Of him, her husband, joy and pride,
Whilst yours still labours at your side,
Is lovely, though alone.
For know, 'tis not from loss of state,
Nor e'en from loved one's death,
Nor any stroke of Time or Fate,
That true grace suffereth:
That virtue hath a secret charm,
Age cannot wither, sorrow harm,
Which keepeth even beauty warm
After surcease of breath.
Know, furthermore, that wants debased,
Void restlessness in crime,
Have almost wholly now defaced
What had been spared by Time;
That, soul shut in, while sense ajar,
Joys which, not mending nature, mar,
Entered, and left you what you are-
A ruin-ere your prime!
poem by Alfred Austin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Salmacis And Hermaphroditus
HOW Salmacis with weak enfeebling streams
Softens the body, and unnerves the limbs,
And what the secret cause shall here be shown;
The cause is secret, but the effect is known.
The Naiads nurst an infant heretofore,
That Cytherea once to Hermes bore;
From both the illustrious authors of his race
The child was named; nor was it hard to trace
Both the bright parents through the infant's face;
When fifteen years, in Ida's cool retreat,
The boy had told, he left his native seat,
And sought fresh fountains in a foreign soil;
The pleasure lessened the attending toil.
With eager steps the Lycian fields he crossed,
And fields that border on the Lycian coast;
A River here he viewed so lovely bright,
It showed the bottom in a fairer light,
Nor kept a sand concealed from human sight.
The stream produced, nor slimy ooze, nor weeds,
Nor miry rushes nor the spiky reeds:
But dealt encircling moisture all around,
The fruitful banks with cheerful verdure crowned,
And kept the spring eternal on the ground
A nymph presides, nor practised in the chase,
Nor skilful at the bow, nor at the race;
Of all the blue-eyed daughters of the main.
The only stranger to Diana's train;
Her sisters, often, as 'tis said, would cry,
'Fie, Salmacis, what, always idle! Fie!
Or take thy quiver or thy arrows seize,
And mix the toils of hunting with thy ease.'
But oft would bathe her in the crystal tide,
Oft with a comb her dewy locks divide;
Now in the limpid streams she viewed her face,
And drest her image in the floating glass:
On beds of leaves she now reposed her limbs,
Now gathered flowers that grew about her streams;
And then by chance was gathering, as she stood
To view the boy, and longed for what she viewed.
Fain would she meet the youth with hasty feet,
She fain would meet him, but refused to meet
Before her looks were set with nicest care,
And well deserved to be reputed fair.
'Bright youth,' she cries, 'whom all thy features prove
A God, and, if a God, the God of Love;
But if a mortal, blest thy nurse's breast,
Blest are thy parents, and thy sisters blest:
But, oh! how blest! how more than blest thy bride,
Allied in bliss, if any get allied:
If so, let mine the stolen enjoyment be;
If not, behold a willing bride to me.'
The boy knew nought of love, and, touched with shame,
He strove, and blushed, but still the blush became;
In rising blushes still fresh beauties rose;
The sunny side of fruit such blushes shows,
And such the moon, when all her silver white
Turns in eclipses to a ruddy light.
The Nymph still begs, if not a nobler bliss,
A cold salute at least, a sister's kiss;
And now prepares to take the lovely boy
Between her arms. He, innocently coy,
Replies, 'Oh leave me to myself alone,
You rude, uncivil nymph, or I'll begone.'
'Fair stranger then,' says she; 'it shall be so';
And, for she feared his threats, she feigned to go;
But hid within a covert's neighboring green,
She kept him still in sight, herself unseen.
The boy now fancies all the danger o'er,
And innocently sports about the shore,
Playful and wanton to the stream he trips,
And dips his foot, and shivers as he dips,
The coolness pleases him, and with eager haste
His airy garments on the banks he cast;
His godlike features and his heavenly hue,
And all his beauties were exposed to view.
His naked limbs the nymph with rapture spies,
While hotter passions in her bosom rise,
Flush in her cheeks, and sparkle in her eyes.
She longs, she burns to clasp him in her arms,
And loves, and sighs, and kindles at his charms.
Now all undrest upon the banks he stood,
And clapt his sides and leapt into the flood:
His lovely limbs the silver waves divide,
His limbs appear more lovely through the tide;
As lilies shut within a crystal case,
Receive a glossy lustre from the glass.
'He's mine, he's all my own,' the Naiad cries,
And flings off all, and after him she flies.
And now she fastens on him as he swims,
And holds him close, and wraps about his limbs.
The more the boy resisted and was coy,
The more she kissed and clipt the strippling boy.
So when the wriggling snake is hatched on high
In eagle's claws, and hisses in the sky,
Around the foe his twirling tail he flings,
And twists her legs, and writhes about her wings.
The restless boy still obstinately strove
To free himself and still refused her love.
Amidst his limbs she kept her limbs entwined,
'And why, coy youth,' she cries, 'why thus unkind!
Oh, may the Gods thus keep us ever joined!
Oh, may we never, never part again!'
So prayed the nymph, nor did she pray in vain:
For now she finds him, as his limbs she prest,
Grow nearer still, and nearer to her breast;
Till, piercing each the other's flesh, they run
Together, and incorporate in one:
Last in one face are both their faces joined,
As when the stock and grafter twig combined
Shoot up the same, and wear a common mind:
Both bodies in a single body mix,
A single body with a double sex.
The boy, thus lost in woman, now surveyed
The river's guilty stream, and thus he prayed.
(He prayed, but wondered at his softer tone,
Surprised to hear a voice but half his own.)
You parent gods, whose heavenly names I bear,
Hear your Hermaphrodite, and grant my prayer;
Oh, grant that--whom so'er these streams contain,
If man he entered, he may rise again
Supple, unsinewed, and but half a man!
The heavenly parents answered, from on high
Their two-shaped son, the double votary;
Then gave a secret virtue to the flood,
And tinged its source to make his wishes good.
Dreams
I had a dream, a dream of dread:
I thought that horror held the house;
A burglar bent above my bed,
He moved as quiet as a mouse.
With hairy hand and naked knife
He poised to plunge a bloody stroke,
Until despairful of my life
I shrieked with terror - and awoke.
I had a dream of weary woes:
In weather that was fit to freeze,
I thought that I had lost my cloths,
And only wore a short chemise.
The wind was wild; so catch a train
I ran, but no advance did make;
My legs were pistoning in vain -
How I was happy to awake!
I had a dream: Upon the stair
I met a maid who kissed my lips;
A nightie was her only wear,
We almost came to loving grips.
And then she opened wide a door,
And pointed to a bonny bed . . .
Oh blast! I wakened up before
I could discover - were we wed?
Alas! Those dreams of broken bliss,
Of wakenings too sadly soon!
With memories of sticky kiss,
And limbs so languidly a-swoon!
Alas those nightmares devil driven!
Those pantless prowlings in Pall Mall!
Oh why should some dreams be like heaven
And others so resemble hell?
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With The Quandongs
IF you happen to visit the Western Plains
When the summer is young and green,
You can see the green of the quandong leaves
With the quandong fruit between.
The fruit is the size of a plum, perhaps,
And red as your own blood's hue;
And it falls to the ground at the touch of the wind
Like a drop of crimson dew.
The wide plains lie with half-shut eyes
At peace in a golden swoon,
And the lizards drink their full of rest
Abask in the drowsy noon.
There is only the whir of a wing, perchance,
To startle the sleeping lands;
But the quandong trees, all green and red,
Are a-twinkle with little hands.
Oh, many a tress has turned to grey,
And many a song grown mute
Since Rita and Meg and Trixie and I
Went gathering quandong fruit.
And there we were on the plains alone
In the hush of a drowsy air —
Rita and Meg with roguish eyes
And Trixie with wayward hair.
A far mirage of mingled sun and dream
Was born of the noontide sleep,
And the rifled fruit of the quandongs lay
At our feet in a ruddy heap.
I know that the quandong's burning fruit
Still reddens the drowsy air;
That Trixie is grown and sometime wed,
And Rita is grave and fair.
I know that Meg of the roguish eyes,
Though ten long years be sped,
Still plucks the fruit of the quandong trees
When the quandong fruit is red.
I know — and I know to my loss, alas! —
That I stand where the winds blow cold,
And search, with others, another tree
For its scanty fruit of gold.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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My Lullaby (Song)
Close your eyes
Go to sleep.
Find your soul
In arms I'll keep
Dream you Little dark Dream
In your eyes
There's a glow
See your dreams
Now you know
Dream you Little dark Dreams
See your dreams
Come alive
Watch them dance
Through your eyes
Dream you Little dark Dreams
Coming now into eternal
Slumber, Sleep your Life's infernal
Lies called dreams within our sorrow
Never waking for tomorrow
Bow your head
Lay on down
Wipe your tears
Do not frown
Dream Dream Dream Dream Dream Dream
Dream you Little dark Dreams
Tonight.
poem by Sans Serif
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The Fire Alarm
Fire-fire-fire! Nigher still and nigher
Seem the tones of the 'Alarum bell' borne on the air!
Awaking with a start, what a sinking of the heart
Even the strong are apt to feel, ere they are well aware!
Fire-fire-fire! Higher now and higher
Leaps the madly raging flames as the cry goes round!
In the darkness of the night what a truly awful sight
Is the burning up of homes, while we listen to the sound.
Fire-fire-fire! Behold the havoc dire!
When the black, wreathing smoke a moment clears away-
The flames both hiss and roar as the brave firemen pour
Constantly the crystal streams from Engines in full play.
Fire-fire-fire! Fresh force it does acquire!
The rising wind has sent the blaze unto the other side!
Yet men are standing round in torpor most profound;
Rouse ye up! now fall to work, and let your strength be tried!
Fire-fire-fire! Two blocks seem one vast pyre.
Oh, pity the poor houseless ones-fleeing now away!
Screen them from Winter's blast, for they are on you cast-
That sympathy in measure their losses may repay.
Fire-fire-fire! Thank God, the flames expire!
For a cold, but drenching rain most opportunely comes.
Now honor that Brigade which has such efforts made,
And don't forget your neighbors who have just lost their homes.
poem by Thomas Cowherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Surpris’d Nymph
The four and twentieth day of May,
Of all days in the year;
A Virgin Lady fresh and gay,
Did privately appear:
Hard by a River side got she,
And did sing loud the rather;
Cause she was sure, she was secure,
And had intent to bathe her.
With glittering, glancing, jealous Eyes,
She slyly looks about;
To see if any lurking Spies
Were hid to find her out:
And being well resolved that none,
Could see her Nakedness,
She pulled her Robes off one by one,
And did her self undress.
Her purple Mantle fring’d with Gold,
Her Ivory Hands unpinned;
It would have made a Coward bold,
Or tempted a Saint to ’a sinned:
She turned about and looked around,
Quoth she, I hope I’m safe;
Then her rosie Petticoat,
She presently put off.
The snow white Smock which she had on,
Transparently to deck her,
Look’d like Cambric or Lawn,
Upon an Alabaster Picture:
Thro’ which Array I did faintly spy
Her Belly and her Back;
Her Limbs were straight, and all was white,
But that which should be Black.
Into a fluent Stream she leapt,
She looked like Venus Glass;
The Fishes from all Quarters crept,
To see what Angel ’twas:
She did so like a Vision look,
Or Fancy in a Dream;
’Twas thought the Sun the Skies forsook,
And dropt into the Stream.
Each Fish did wish himself a Man,
About her all was drawn,
And at the Sight of her began
To spread abroad their Spawn:
She turned to swim upon her Back,
And so display’d her Banner;
If Jove had then in Heaven been,
He would have dropt upon her.
A Lad that long her Love had been,
And could obtain no Grace,
For all her prying lay unseen,
Hid in a secret place:
Who had often been repuls’d,
When he did come to Woo her;
Pulled off his clothes, and furiously
Did run and leap into her.
She squeaked, she cried, and down she dived,
He brought her up again;
He brought o’er upon the Shore,
And then—and then—and then—
As Adam did Old Eve enjoy,
You may guess what I mean;
Because she all uncovered lay,
He covered her again.
With watered Eyes she pants and cries,
I’m utterly undone;
If you will not be wed to me,
E’er the next Morning Sun:
He answered her he ne’er would stir,
Out of her Sight till then;
We’ll both clap Hands in Wedlock Bands,
Marry, and to’t again.
poem by from Pills to Purge Melancholy (1707)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Lewti, Or The Circassian Love-Chaunt
At midnight by the stream I roved,
To forget the form I loved.
Image of Lewti! from my mind
Depart; for Lewti is not kind.
The Moon was high, the moonlight gleam
And the shadow of a star
Heaved upon Tamaha's stream;
But the rock shone brighter far,
The rock half sheltered from my view
By pendent boughs of tressy yew.--
So shines my Lewti's forehead fair,
Gleaming through her sable hair,
Image of Lewti! from my mind
Depart; for Lewti is not kind.
I saw a cloud of palest hue,
Onward to the moon it passed;
Still brighter and more bright it grew,
With floating colours not a few,
Till it reach'd the moon at last:
Then the cloud was wholly bright,
With a rich and amber light!
And so with many a hope I seek
And with such joy I find my Lewti;
And even so my pale wan cheek
Drinks in as deep a flush of beauty!
Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind,
If Lewti never will be kind.
The little cloud-it floats away,
Away it goes; away so soon?
Alas! it has no power to stay:
Its hues are dim, its hues are grey--
Away it passes from the moon!
How mournfully it seems to fly,
Ever fading more and more,
To joyless regions of the sky--
And now 'tis whiter than before!
As white as my poor cheek will be,
When, Lewti! on my couch I lie,
A dying man for love of thee.
Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind--
And yet, thou didst not look unkind.
I saw a vapour in the sky,
Thin, and white, and very high;
I ne'er beheld so thin a cloud:
Perhaps the breezes that can fly
Now below and now above,
Have snatched aloft the lawny shroud
Of Lady fair--that died for love.
For maids, as well as youths, have perished
From fruitless love too fondly cherished.
Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind--
For Lewti never will be kind.
Hush! my heedless feet from under
Slip the crumbling banks for ever:
Like echoes to a distant thunder,
They plunge into the gentle river.
The river-swans have heard my tread,
And startle from their reedy bed.
O beauteous birds! methinks ye measure
Your movements to some heavenly tune!
O beauteous birds! 'tis such a pleasure
To see you move beneath the moon,
I would it were your true delight
To sleep by day and wake all night.
I know the place where Lewti lies
When silent night has closed her eyes:
It is a breezy jasmine-bower,
The nightingale sings o'er her head:
Voice of the Night! had I the power
That leafy labyrinth to thread,
And creep, like thee, with soundless tread,
I then might view her bosom white
Heaving lovely to my sight,
As these two swans together heave
On the gently-swelling wave.
Oh! that she saw me in a dream,
And dreamt that I had died for care;
All pale and wasted I would seem
Yet fair withal, as spirits are!
I'd die indeed, if I might see
Her bosom heave, and heave for me!
Soothe, gentle image! soothe my mind!
To-morrow Lewti may be kind.
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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