O human race born to fly upward, wherefore at a little wind dost thou fall.
quote by Dante Alighieri
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Noble Spanish Soldier
O, SORROW, SORROW, say where dost thou dwell?
In the lowest room of hell.
Art thou born of human race?
No, no, I have a furier face.
Art thou in city, town, or court?
I to every place resort?
O, why into the world is Sorrow sent?
Men afflicted best repent.
What dost thou feed on?
Broken sleep.
What takest thou pleasure in?
To weep,
To sigh, to sob, to pine, to groan,
To wring my hands, to sit alone.
O when, O when shall Sorrow quiet have?
Never, never, never, never,
Never till she finds a grave.
poem by Thomas Dekker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wherefore Art Thou Romeo?
I see thee still in doublet wide,
And hose well kept, a world too slack,
So long and lean thou wert allied,
It struck me, with that curious back,
The Zoo giraffe. Thy brow was black,
Thy speech was awkward, action slow.
I whispered at thy first attack:
“And wherefore art thou Romeo?”
Thou wert then fifty and cross-eyed;
For acting never hadst the knack.
With stilted bow and Irving stride
Thou tookst the stage, and Jill and Jack
Both sniggered, when with damned clack
Thou talkedst of moons, and wrecked the show.
And here by Heaven, thou art back.
Oh, wherefore art thou Romeo?
This fellow was a lad of pride,
No prinked-out fool, with just a snack
Of bounder, and by Fate allied
To pale effeminates who smack
The rouge about. Thou art a quack!
Thy treatment brings the lover low.
Thou’rt living still our hearts to crack;
Oh, wherefore art thou Romeo?
ENVOY
No egotism dost thou lack,
Great scorn hast for the rival pro.,
And talk’st thou of thy art. Alack!
And wherefore art, thou Romeo?
poem by Edward George Dyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet 67: Hope, Art Thou True
Hope, art thou true, or dost thou flatter me?
Doth Stella now begin with piteous eye
The ruins of her conquest to espy:
Will she take time, before all wracked be?
Her eye's speech is translated thus by thee.
But failst thou not in phrase so heav'nly high?
Look on again, the fair text better try:
What blushing notes dost thou in margin see?
What sighs stol'n out, or kill'd before full born?
Hast thou found such and such like arguments?
Or art thou else to comfort me foresworn?
Well, how so thou interpret the contents,
I am resolv'd thy error to maintain,
Rather than by more truth to get more pain.
poem by Philip Sidney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With Whom is no Variableness, Neither Shadow of Turning
It fortifies my soul to know
That, though I perish, Truth is so:
That, howsoe'er I stray and range,
Whate'er I do, Thou dost not change.
I steadier step when I recall
That, if I slip, Thou dost not fall.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Sentinel
Each flower is a sentinel of God,
And ev'ry tree and ev'ry grassblade. Not
An unseen little stem, but that will stand
And wait and shine, and never ask wherefore
It came and why it has to whither. Thou
Art such a sentinel, O Heart! Thou hast
To stand and bloom and love beside the others,
And wither when thy work is done, the spot
Being given to another, whereupon
Thou standest. And that other heart is growing
And blooming into life beneath thy shade,
As strong as thine, as ruby-red as thine,
To wither and to fall beneath the scythe,
As thine has done. Why ask and why despair?
Why not be happy with the sun, the dew,
The other flowery hearts that, full of life
Unfold their petals, which are deep like thine,
And rich as thine? Ye are to be a glorious
And many-coloured meadow. Is it not
Enough? And must ye grumble? Must ye strive
To take away the light and dew, that fall
Not to your share? Behold the scythe! And sow
Thy seed and ask not where it falls. The wind
Of fate has carried it away, to place
Another sentinel, as unknown, as
Unsought for as thyself, in a far land,
To live when thou art gone, to bloom into
Some unexpected beauty with thy strength,
Thy blood, the thoughts that were companions once
To thee and that the wind hath blown so far
Away. Thou shalt not say unto thy seed:
"Fly thither!" It obeyeth not thy will.
Thou shalt not long to be another plant;
Thy tragedy is useless, and thy will
Is nought. With all thy strength thou art but what
Is wanted--tree or grassblade--never ask
Wherefore? Here is no answer. Fate itself
Knows not wherefore it blows, or tells thee not,
But takes thy noblest self to other climes
And leaves thee to the scythe. Complain not! Mourn not!
Long not to live another day, when thou
Art called, but bow thy head without a sigh,
In gentle acquiescence, sentinel!
poem by Carmen Sylva
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To Coleridge
Oh! there are spirits of the air,
And genii of the evening breeze,
And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fair
As star-beams among twilight trees:
Such lovely ministers to meet
Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet.
With mountain winds, and babbling springs,
And moonlight seas, that are the voice
Of these inexplicable things,
Thou dost hold commune, and rejoice
When they did answer thee, but they
Cast, like a worthless boon, thy love away.
And thou hast sought in starry eyes
Beams that were never meant for thine,
Another's wealth: tame sacrifice
To a fond faith ! still dost thou pine?
Still dost thou hope that greeting hands,
Voice, looks, or lips, may answer thy demands?
Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope
On the false earth's inconstancy?
Did thine own mind afford no scope
Of love, or moving thoughts to thee?
That natural scenes or human smiles
Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles?
Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled
Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted;
The glory of the moon is dead;
Night's ghosts and dreams have now departed;
Thine own soul still is true to thee,
But changed to a foul fiend through misery.
This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever
Beside thee like thy shadow hangs,
Dream not to chase: the mad endeavour
Would scourge thee to severer pangs.
Be as thou art. Thy settled fate,
Dark as it is, all change would aggravate.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet 4
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free:
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thy self alone,
Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive:
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
Which, used, lives th' executor to be.
poem by William Shakespeare from Sonnets (1609)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Fragment 01
WHEN, upon the well-wrought chest,
Fiercely heat the howling wind,
And the oceans heaving breast
Filled with terror DanaCs mind ;
All in tears, her arm she throws
Over Perseus, as he lay
0, my babe, she said, what woes
On thy mothers bosom weigh!
Thou dost sleep with careless breast,
Slumbering in this dreary home,
Thou dost sweetly take thy rest,
In the darkness and the gloom.
In thy little mantle there,
Passing wave thou dost not mind,
Dashing oer thy clustering hair,
Nor fhe voices of the wind.
Yet if thou, my beauteous one!
Felt the weight of this deep woe,
Not unconscious would my son
Hear his mothers sorrows now.
Yet sleep on, my babe, I pray,
Sleep thou too, tumultuous deep
And th unmeasured cares that stay
On my heart,let them too sleep!
Father Jove! I ask of thee,
Vain their evil counsels make!
And, though bold the prayer may be,
Right my wrongs, for Perseus sake.
The Temper (II)
It cannot be. Where is that mighty joy,
Which just now took up all my heart?
Lord, if thou must needs use thy dart,
Save that, and me; or sin for both destroy.
The grosser world stand to thy word and art;
But thy diviner world of grace
Thou suddenly dost raise and race,
And ev'ry day a new Creator art
O fix thy chair of grace, that all my powers
May also fix their reverence:
For when thou dost depart from hence,
They grow unruly, and sit in thy bowers.
Scatter, or bind them all to bend to thee:
Though elements change, and heaven move,
Let not thy higher Court remove,
But keep a standing Majesty in me.
poem by George Herbert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Wounded Eagle
Eagle! this is not thy sphere!
Warrior-bird, what seek'st thou here?
Wherefore by the fountain's brink
Doth thy royal pinion sink?
Wherefore on the violet's bed
Lay'st thou thus thy drooping head?
Thou that hold'st the blast in scorn,
Thou that wear'st the wings of mourn.
Eagle! wilt thou not arise?
Look upon thine own bright skies!
Lift thy glance! the fiery sun
There his pride pf place has won,
And the mountain lark is there,
And sweet sound hath fill'd the air:
Hast thou left that realm on high?
-Oh, it can be but to die!
Eagle! Eagle! thou hast bowed
From thine empire o'er the cloud!
Thou that hadst ethereal birth,
Thou hast stoop'd too near the earth,
And the hunter's shaft hath found thee,
And the toils of death have bound thee,
Wherefore didst thou leave thy place,
Creature of a kingly race?
Wert thou weary of thy throne?
Was the sky's dominion lone?
Chill and lone it well might be,
Yet that mighty wing was free!
Now the chain is o'er thee cast:
From thy heart the blood flows fast,
Woe for gifted souls and high!
Is not such their destiny?
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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I admire the human race
i admire the human race
though god is way beyond
comprehension
beyond their time, intelligence
yet they persevere
to find him, get close to him
i admire the human race
though god is such a
hard subject to swallow
yet they persevere
trying all means to get close to him
some inspired, some misled,
some fall, some brush him aside
yet the whole human race
never gives him up
i admire the human race
who could hang on to something
they could never even see
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Sonnet 4: Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse,
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thyself alone,
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
Which usèd, lives th' executor to be.
poem by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Racism And Rank
Racism and Rank are humanity's shame
All people should be equal and the same
But in my lifetime this will never be
In the Human World of inequality
The person born into a so called royal family
Should be no more equal than the likes of you and me
But human society is not structured in this way
And such is life as some are known to say
The facts tell us so and facts do never lie
That human beings are mortals and all born to die
The billionaire like the pauper to the Reaper's scythe must fall
Eventually death comes to one and all
In the Human World inequality of Rank and Race
Seems sad to say will always have a place.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Unwelcome visitor
Begone sad ghost why dost thou bother me.
I knew thee not whilst living thou drew breath.
Nor do I wish to know thee after death.
Why dost thou visit me so frequently?
What is that thou hopest to gain from me?
Unlike the other dead who slumber peacefully.
Under the stone which they must lie beneath.
What wantest thou with me; I know thee not,
nor do I want thy ghostly company.
If once I knew thee I have forgot
Begone sad ghost thou dost not frighten me.
Go now there is no welcome here for thee.
9-Sep-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Thy Better Self
I AM thy other self, what thou wilt be,
When thou art I, the one seest now;
In finding thy true self thou wilt find me,
The springing blade, where now thou dost but plough.
I am thy neighbor, a new house I've built,
Which thou as yet hast never entered in;
I come to call thee; come in when thou wilt,
The feast is always ready to begin.
Thou should'st love me, as thou dost love thyself,
For I am but another self beside;
To show thee him thou lov'st in better health,
What thou would'st be, when thou to him hast died;
Then visit me, I make thee many a call;
Nor live I near to thee alone, but all.
poem by Jones Very
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dost Thou Remember Ever
Dost thou remember ever, for my sake,
When we two rowed upon the rock-bound lake?
How the wind-fretted waters blew their spray
About our brows like blossom-falls of May
One memorable day?
Dost thou remember the glad mouth that cried--
"Were it not sweet to die now side by side,
To lie together tangled in the deep
Close as the heart-beat to the heart--so keep
The everlasting sleep?"
Dost thou remember? Ah, such death as this
Had set the seal upon my heart's young bliss!
But, wrenched asunder, severed and apart,
Life knew a deadlier death: the blighting smart
Which only kills the heart.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Sonnet To The Nile
Son of the old Moon-mountains African!
Chief of the Pyramid and Crocodile!
We call thee fruitful, and that very while
A desert fills our seeing's inward span:
Nurse of swart nations since the world began,
Art thou so fruitful? or dost thou beguile
Such men to honour thee, who, worn with toil,
Rest for a space 'twixt Cairo and Decan?
O may dark fancies err! They surely do;
'Tis ignorance that makes a barren waste
Of all beyond itself. Thou dost bedew
Green rushes like our rivers, and dost taste
The pleasant sunrise. Green isles hast thou too,
And to the sea as happily dost haste.
poem by John Keats
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To the Nile
Son of the old Moon-mountains African!
Chief of the Pyramid and Crocodile!
We call thee fruitful, and that very while
A desert fills our seeing's inward span:
Nurse of swart nations since the world began,
Art thou so fruitful? or dost thou beguile
Such men to honour thee, who, worn with toil,
Rest for a space 'twixt Cairo and Decan?
O may dark fancies err! They surely do;
'Tis ignorance that makes a barren waste
Of all beyond itself. Thou dost bedew
Green rushes like our rivers, and dost taste
The pleasant sunrise. Green isles hast thou too,
And to the sea as happily dost haste.
poem by John Keats
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Where Thou art—that—is Home
725
Where Thou art—that—is Home—
Cashmere—or Calvary—the same—
Degree—or Shame—
I scarce esteem Location's Name—
So I may Come—
What Thou dost—is Delight—
Bondage as Play—be sweet—
Imprisonment—Content—
And Sentence—Sacrament—
Just We two—meet—
Where Thou art not—is Woe—
Tho' Bands of Spices—row—
What Thou dost not—Despair—
Tho' Gabriel—praise me—Sire—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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By The River II
WHEN by the broad stream thou dost dwell,
Oft shallow is its sluggish flood;
Then, when thy fields thou tendest well,
It o'er them spreads its slime and mud.
The ships descend ere daylight wanes,
The prudent fisher upward goes;
Round reef and rock ice casts its chains,
And boys at will the pathway close.
To this attend, then, carefully,
And what thou wouldst, that execute!
Ne'er linger, ne'er o'erhasty be,
For time moves on with measured foot.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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