When bow... [Când îmi plec...]
When bow my forehead on my hand
My vagrant thought escapes from here
And think you're under my command,
For I'm your mistress, O, my dear!
And also think, like in the past,
That you adore me with your eye
And with a heart sad and harassed
You long for me and deeply sigh.
Then lots of things in sky confined
Or in the stories meant to be
Pass quickly through my crazy mind
Because I deem you're loving me.
But then I jerk and from my hand
I lift my forehead tough and grave
And waking up I understand
I'm not a mistress, but a slave.
poem by Veronica Micle, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
All Hail My Dear Mistress I
My dear mistress
People comment on you
Even in my presence
Your love in me is hard to take away
People respect me
Because of you
Your succulent lips
Makes me go crazy
My dear mistress
Your love in me
Is like a precious seed planted
That is hard to uproot
My dear mistress
I am happy and sad
Because I fear for the future
That we missed out on each other
My dear mistress
Oh lord!
I wish you prepared her for me
To marry in future
I wish she mothered my future children
My dear mistress.
poem by Tolulope Modupe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Minus into minus
The chambermaid, as usual, made ready
The bedroom for her mistress and master
When the master’s eyes fell upon her shoulders,
That the mistress took note of the least.
Without any fuss, saw the mistress
The master lay his hand upon the shoulder
Of the maid. No rage, no jealousy.
She, the straying, rather felt relieved.
07.02.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Indifferent
Never more will I protest,
To love a woman but in jest:
For as they cannot be true,
So, to give each man his due,
When the wooing fit is past
Their affection cannot last.
Therefore, if I chance to meet
With a mistress fair and sweet,
She my service shall obtain,
Loving her for love again:
Thus much liberty I crave,
Not to be a constant slave.
But when we have tried each other,
If she better like another,
Let her quickly change for me,
Then to change am I as free.
He or she that loves too long
Sell their freedom for a song.
poem by Francis Beaumont
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Close by
So near at hand (our eyes o'erlooked its nearness
In search of distant things)
A dear dream lay--perchance to grow in dearness
Had we but felt its wings
Astir. The air our very breathing fanned
It was so near at hand.
Once, many days ago, we almost held it,
The love we so desired;
But our shut eyes saw not, and fate dispelled it
Before our pulses fired
To flame, and errant fortune bade us stand
Hand almost touching hand.
I sometimes think had we two been discerning,
The by-path hid away
From others' eyes had then revealed its turning
To us, nor led astray
Our footsteps, guiding us into love's land
That lay so near at hand.
So near at hand, dear heart, could we have known it!
Throughout those dreamy hours,
Had either loved, or loving had we shown it,
Response had sure been ours;
We did not know that heart could heart command,
And love so near at hand!
What then availed the red wine's subtle glisten?
We passed it blindly by,
And now what profit that we wait and listen
Each for the other's heart beat? Ah! the cry
Of love o'erlooked still lingers, you and I
Sought heaven afar, we did not understand
'Twas--once so near at hand.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Choice
PLAGUE take the dull and dusty town,
Its paved and sordid mazes,
Now Spring has trimmed her pretty gown
With buttercups and daisies!
With half my heart I long to lie
Among the flowered grasses,
And hear the loving leaves that sigh
As their sweet Mistress passes.
Through picture-shows I make my way
While flower-crowned maids go maying,
And all the cultured things I say
That cultured folk are saying.
For I renounce Spring's darling face,
With may-bloom fresh upon it:
My Mistress lives in Grosvenor-place
And wears a Bond-street bonnet!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Today... [Ca astăzi...]
Today, I'm hardly in command
Of my own soul, of my own heart,
And when I gently shake your hand
You get to know it from the start.
I'm like a toy, weak, immature,
In front of you when stand and wait,
My sight would let you know for sure
Into my eyes if you looked straight.
My only wish, my only bliss,
Is to obey, your slave to be,
And my whole being tells you this
When you approach and pass by me.
But you pass like a sunshine bright,
Which a poor vagrant sees above –
What does it care that gives him light...
What do you care that I'm in love.
poem by Veronica Micle, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
Vote! | Copy!
When a little girl saw Rodin's Thinker
she got quite worried about it
asked so many questions
why does he keep his hand on his forehead
will he ever be able to remove it from there
how will he walk with that hand on the forehead
does he have a temperature
why has Rodin done this to him
who is Rodin when will he sculpt again
and what are they both thinking about
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Old Wife and the New
He sat beneath the curling vines
That round the gay verandah twined,
His forehead seamed with sorrow’s lines,
An old man with a weary mind.
His young wife, with a rosy face
And brown arms ambered by the sun,
Went flitting all about the place—
Master and mistress both in one.
What caused that old man’s look of care?
Was she not blithe and fair to see?
What blacker than her raven hair,
What darker than her eyes might be?
The old man bent his weary head;
The sunlight on his gray hair shone;
His thoughts were with a woman dead
And buried, years and years agone:
The good old wife who took her stand
Beside him at the altar-side,
And walked with him, hand clasped in hand,
Through joy and sorrow till she died.
Ah, she was fair as heart’s desire,
And gay, and supple-limbed, in truth,
And in his veins there leapt like fire
The hot red blood of lusty youth.
She stood by him in shine and shade,
And, when hard-beaten at his best,
She took him like a child and laid
His aching head upon her breast.
She helped him make a little home
Where once were gum-trees gaunt and stark,
And bloodwoods waved green-feathered foam—
Working from dawn of day to dark,
Till that dark forest formed a frame
For vineyards that the gods might bless,
And what was savage once became
An Eden in the wilderness.
And how at their first vintage-time
She laughed and sang—you see such shapes
On vases of the Grecian prime—
And danced a reel upon the grapes!
And ever, as the years went on,
All things she kept with thrifty hand,
Till never shone the sun upon
A fairer homestead in the land.
Then children came—ah, me! ah, me!
Sad blessings that a mother craves!
That old man from his seat could see
The shadows playing o’er their graves.
And then she closed her eyes at last,
Her gentle, useful, peaceful life
Was over—garnered with the past;
God rest thee gently, Good Old Wife!
His young wife has a rosy face,
And laughs, with reddest lips apart,
But cannot fill the empty place
Within that old man’s lonely heart.
His young wife has a rosy face,
And brown arms ambered by the sun,
Goes flitting all about the place,
Master and mistress both in one;
But though she sings, or though she sighs,
He sees her not—he sees instead
A gray-haired Shade with gentle eyes—
The good old wife, long dead, long dead.
He sits beneath the curling vines,
Through which the merry sunrays dart,
His forehead seamed with sorrow’s lines—
An old man with a broken heart.
poem by Victor James Daley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?
"Ah, are you digging on my grave,
My loved one? -- planting rue?"
-- "No: yesterday he went to wed
One of the brightest wealth has bred.
'It cannot hurt her now,' he said,
'That I should not be true.'"
"Then who is digging on my grave,
My nearest dearest kin?"
-- "Ah, no: they sit and think, 'What use!
What good will planting flowers produce?
No tendance of her mound can loose
Her spirit from Death's gin.'"
"But someone digs upon my grave?
My enemy? -- prodding sly?"
-- "Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate
That shuts on all flesh soon or late,
She thought you no more worth her hate,
And cares not where you lie.
"Then, who is digging on my grave?
Say -- since I have not guessed!"
-- "O it is I, my mistress dear,
Your little dog , who still lives near,
And much I hope my movements here
Have not disturbed your rest?"
"Ah yes! You dig upon my grave...
Why flashed it not to me
That one true heart was left behind!
What feeling do we ever find
To equal among human kind
A dog's fidelity!"
"Mistress, I dug upon your grave
To bury a bone, in case
I should be hungry near this spot
When passing on my daily trot.
I am sorry, but I quite forgot
It was your resting place."
poem by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dunne Studying.
Dunne watches her mistress sleep.
There is the flickering of the eyelids
As if in dream. She gets out of bed
And with soft tread walks to her
Mistress’s bed side and looks down.
She holds her breath. She takes in
Each aspect of the face and neck
And how the hair is spread upon
The pillow. She wants to lean down
And kiss the lips, put flesh to flesh.
She hovers like some hawk waiting
To fly down and take her fine prey.
She breathes out slowly. She watches
The rise and fall of her mistress’s breast.
She moves out a hand to lay it there
But does not touch. She imagines so.
Imagines also climbing into the bed
And snuggling up close and kissing
The nape of neck. Her hand lingers
Over the breasts. Her eyes greedily
Study the soft cheek. She breathes
In deep. Her heart pounds within her
Breast. So near so near. She imagines
Lying within those arms and feeling
The hands caress her back. Her mistress
Stirs and she moves away. Walks back
To her own bed to await the light of day.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Love's Diet
TO what a cumbersome unwieldiness
And burdenous corpulence my love had grown,
But that I did, to make it less,
And keep it in proportion,
Give it a diet, made it feed upon
That which love worst endures, discretion
Above one sigh a day I allow'd him not,
Of which my fortune, and my faults had part;
And if sometimes by stealth he got
A she sigh from my mistress' heart,
And thought to feast upon that, I let him see
'Twas neither very sound, nor meant to me.
If he wrung from me a tear, I brined it so
With scorn and shame, that him it nourish'd not;
If he suck'd hers, I let him know
'Twas not a tear which he had got;
His drink was counterfeit, as was his meat;
For eyes, which roll towards all, weep not, but sweat.
Whatever he would dictate I writ that,
But burnt her letters when she writ to me;
And if that favour made him fat,
I said, "If any title be
Convey'd by this, ah! what doth it avail,
To be the fortieth name in an entail?"
Thus I reclaim'd my buzzard love, to fly
At what, and when, and how, and where I choose.
Now negligent of sports I lie,
And now, as other falconers use,
I spring a mistress, swear, write, sigh, and weep;
And the game kill'd, or lost, go talk or sleep.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
My Dear Mistress
My dear mistress
You put on your make up
You put on your fancy cloths
Your services paid for in good dues
Dirty laundry in high places is kept
Every night inside the soul is wept
But still you go on yet
As you have always done
As you are doing right now
As you always will
Past
Present
Future
Till you're used up goods
All alone
Nobody wants you
Nobody ever wanted you for you
With an sensational appetite to violate you in every way
One after another
Running a train of the elite
Money you come to love so well
Will be your hell
For upon acquiring it people come at you for different reasons.
To take you for everything you have
My dear mistress
I can only pray for your forgiveness
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Until The Real Thing Comes Along
I'd work for you, I'd even slave for you
I'd be a beggar or a knave for you
If that isn't love, it'll have to do
Until the real thing comes along
I'd gladly move the earth for you
To prove my love, dear, and it's worth for you
If that isn't love, it'll have to do
Until the real thing comes along
With all the words, dear, at my command
I just can't make you understand
I'll always love you, darling, come what may
My heart is yours, what more can I say?
I'd sigh for you, I'd cry for you
I'd tear the stars down from the skies for you
If that isn't love, it'll have to do
Until the real thing comes along
With all the words, dear, at my command
I just can't make you understand
I'll always love you, baby, come what may
My heart is yours, what more can I say?
I'd lie for you, I'll cry for you
I'd lay my body down and die for you
But if that isn't love, it's gonna have to do
Until the real thing comes along
Until the real thing comes along
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
My Name Is Qalme-Tari
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Were I go
People will follow.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Were I go
Death follows.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
I bring death
Upon people of injustice.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Death for people of injustice.
Tyrants beware!
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Dictators beware
I come for thee.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Kidnapers beware
I come for thee.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Child abusers beware
I come for thee.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
For those of injustice
I am Death.
My name is Estela
Mistress of Hope
For those of purity
I am Hope
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
The in just
Shall flee before me.
My name is Estela
Mistress of Hope
The pure
Shall follow me.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
My name is Estela
Mistress of Hope
Were I go
People will flee.
Were I go
People will follow.
I am Qalme Tari Mistress of Death Nat. Norville.
Cretics Welcome
poem by Athena Goddess of Wisdom Lumis Light to all
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Until The Real Thing Comes Along
Sammy kahn / saul chaplin / mann holiner / alberta nichols / l.e. freeman
Id wait for you
Id slave for you
Id be a beggar or a knave for you
If that isnt love, it will have to do
Until the real thing comes along
Id gladly move
The earth for you
To prove my love, dear
And its worth for you
If that isnt love, it will have to do
Until the real thing comes along.
With all the words, dear, at my command
I just cant make you understand
Ill always love you darling
Come what may
My heart is yours
What more can I say?
Id lie for you
Id sigh for you
Id tear the stars down from the sky for you
If that isnt love, it will have to do
Until the real thing comes along
With all the words, dear, at my command
I just cant make you understand
Ill always love you baby
Come what may
My heart is yours
What more can I say?
Id lie for you
Id cry for you
Id lay my body down and die tor you
If that isnt love, it will have to do
Until the real thing comes along
song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Only A Soldier's Grave
Only a soldier's grave! Pass by,
For soldiers, like other mortals, die.
Parents had he - they are far away;
No sister weeps o'er the soldier's clay;
No brother comes, with tearful eye;
It's only a soldier's grave - pass by.
True, he was loving, and young, and brave,
Though no glowing epitaph honors his grave;
No proud recital of virtues known,
Of griefs endured, or triumphs won;
No tablet of marble, or obelisk high; -
Only a soldier's grave: - pass by.
Yet bravely he wielded his sword in fight,
And he gave his life in the cause of right!
When his hope was high, and his youthful dream
As warm as the sunlight on yonder stream;
His heart unvexed by sorrow or sigh; -
Yet, 'tis only a soldier's grave: - pass by.
Yet, we should mark it - the soldier's grave,
Some one may seek him in hope to save!
Some of the dear ones, far away,
Would bear him home to his native clay:
'Twere sad, indeed, should they wander nigh,
Find not the hillock, and pass him by.
poem by S.A. Jones
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Only A Soldier's Grave
Only a soldier's grave! Pass by,
For soldiers, like other mortals, die.
Parents he had--they are far away;
No sister weeps o'er the soldier's clay;
No brother comes, with a tearful eye:
It's only a soldier's grave--pass by.
True, he was loving, and young, and brave,
Though no glowing epitaph honors his grave;
No proud recital of virtues known,
Of griefs endured, or of triumphs won;
No tablet of marble, or obelisk high;--
Only a soldier's grave--pass by.
Yet bravely he wielded his sword in fight,
And he gave his life in the cause of right!
When his hope was high, and his youthful dream
As warm as the sunlight on yonder stream;
His heart unvexed by sorrow or sigh;--
Yet,'tis only a soldier's grave:--pass by.
Yet, should we mark it--the soldier's grave,
Some one may seek him in hope to save!
Some of the dear ones, far away,
Would bear him home to his native clay:
'Twere sad, indeed, should they wander nigh,
Find not the hillock, and pass him by.
poem by Sidney Alroy Jonas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Only Worse
On one hand I count the reasons I could stay with you
And hold you close to me, all night long.
So many lover's games I could play with you
and on that hand I see no reason why it's wrong
Chorus:
But on the other hand, There's a golden band
To remind of someone who would not understand
On one hand I could stay and be your loving man
But the reason I must go is on the other hand
In your arms I feel the passion, I thought had died
When I looked into your eyes
I found myself
When I first kissed your lips I felt so alive
I've got to hand it to you girl, you're something else
Repeat Chorus
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
On The Other Hand
On one hand I count the reasons I could stay with you
And hold you close to me, all night long.
So many lover's games I could play with you
and on that hand I see no reason why it's wrong
Chorus:
But on the other hand, There's a golden band
To remind of someone who would not understand
On one hand I could stay and be your loving man
But the reason I must go is on the other hand
In your arms I feel the passion, I thought had died
When I looked into your eyes I found myself
When I first kissed your lips I felt so alive
I've got to hand it to you girl, you're something else
Repeat Chorus
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Lyrael's Father
Father I’m listening
To all your travels and plans
Take me away
From all this troubled land
A sigh is just a sigh
And he knows you’ll never wake
Find your way home, Father
To live a little more
Father I never knew you well
You never really knew me
Wrap me in your velvet cloak
Do everything you’re meant to be
A sigh is just a sigh
And he knows you’re trying hard
Keep me safe and warm, Father
Don’t deny me
Mother she’s gone now
She was always there
Warm with compassion
Now I’m only scared
A sigh is just a sigh
You never knew me well
Tell me all your stories
Tell me about the world
Don’t live to ignore me
I didn’t do you wrong
You’ll find out soon enough
When all of you in me has gone
A Father’s meant to be there
Teach their children how to fight
In this big bad world with tough strict laws
To give it all their might
But how can I call you “Father”?
When you’re just another person to me
I have your genes and features
But not the love I need
A sigh is just a sigh
He’ll say Lyrael I’m proud
Of all the things I’ve seen you do
You’re my little girl
poem by Lyrael Myrna
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!