Corpus Christi Carol
He bear her off, he bear her down
He bear her into an orchard ground
Lu li lu lay lu li lu lay
The falcon hath bourne my mate away
And in this orchard there was a hold
That was hanged with purple and gold
And in that hold there was a bed
And it was hanged with gold so red
Lu li lu lay lu li lu lay
The falcon hath bourne my mate away
And on this bed there lyeth a knight
His wound is bleeding day and night
By his bedside kneeleth a maid
And she weepeth both night and day
Lu li lu lay lu li lu lay
The falcon hath bourne my mate away
By his bedside standeth a stone
Corpus christi written thereon
song performed by by Jeff Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Lully, Lulley
Lully, lulley, lully, lulley,
The faucon hath borne my make away.
He bare him up, he bare him down,
He bare him into an orchard brown.
In that orchard there was an halle
That hanged with purpill and pall.
And in that hall there was a bede;
It was hanged with gold so rede.
And in that bed there lithe a knight,
His woundes bleding day and night.
By that bede side kneleth a may,
And she wepeth both night and day.
And by that bede side there stondeth a stone,
Corpus Christi wreten there on.
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Knight of the Grail
Lully, lully; lully, lulley;
The fawcon hath born my mak away.
He bare hym vp, he bare hym down;
He bare hym into an orchard brown.
In that orchard ther was an hall,
That was hangid with purpill and pall.
And in that hall ther was a bede;
Hit was hangid with gold so rede.
And yn that bed ther lythe a knyght,
His wowndes bledyng day and nyght.
By that bedes side ther kneleth a may,
And she wepeth both nyght and day.
And by that beddes side ther stondith a ston,
'Corpus Christi' wretyn theron.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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It's one of the things that looks good written down, but the reality is that you think about the pieces you're doing and try to bear in mind everyone in the audience.
quote by Matthew Bourne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Falcon
They're near cracking.
And tracking a balloon,
On rumors.
They're near cracking.
And hoping that ballon lands soon.
A boy is claimed to be alone.
And flying on his own,
Alone...
High in the sky and crying.
But he was found to not have flown.
And hiding in a box.
Hoping that his daddy wouldn't fuss at him a lot.
They're near cracking.
And tracking a balloon,
On rumors.
They're near cracking.
And hoping that ballon lands soon.
'Falcon? '
~Yes, daddy? ~
'Falcon? '
~Yes, daddy? ~
'Falcon no more hiding to start rumors.'
'Falcon? '
~Yes, daddy? ~
'Falcon? '
~Yes, daddy? ~
'Falcon no more hiding to start rumors.'
'Falcon? '
~Yes, daddy? ~
'Falcon? '
~Yes, daddy? ~
'Falcon no more hiding to start rumors.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Three Maidens
There were three maidens met on the highway;
The sun was down, the night was late:
And two sang loud with the birds of May,
O the nightingale is merry with its mate.
Said they to the youngest, Why walk you there so still?
The land is dark, the night is late:
O, but the heart in my side is ill,
And the nightingale will languish for its mate.
Said they to the youngest, Of lovers there is store;
The moon mounts up, the night is late:
O, I shall look on man no more,
And the nightingale is dumb without its mate.
Said they to the youngest, Uncross your arms and sing;
The moon mounts high, the night is late:
O my dear lover can hear no thing,
And the nightingale sings only to its mate.
They slew him in revenge, and his true-love was his lure;
The moon is pale, the night is late:
His grave is shallow on the moor;
O the nightingale is dying for its mate.
His blood is on his breast, and the moss-roots at his hair;
The moon is chill, the night is late:
But I will lie beside him there:
O the nightingale is dying for its mate.
poem by George Meredith
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Mothers Day2007
She hath my heart, she is my mum.
She hath my heart, she is my only, she is my one.
She hath my heart, though rough winds may blow.
She hath my heart, still her love will flow, her love will always show.
She hath my heart, I thank my lucky stars.
She hath my heart and i have hers.
She hath my heart, i long for her presence.
She hath my heart, her name is essence.
She hath my heart and forever she will.
Lifetimes will come and go, i will love her still
She hath my heart, this fact i cant conceal
Our bond is like sentiment you just cant kill
She hath my heart in times of sorrow.
She hath my heart, yesterday, today and tomorrow.
She hath my heart, my voice will sing.
She hath my heart, she makes the bell in my heart ring.
She hath my heart, in times of trouble.
She wont stumble no i will not let her crumble.
She hath my heart in each and every way
And my love for her grows with each day
She hath my heart for we were once one.
She hath my heart, the heart of the boy inside the man
I hath her heart, the heart we once shared.
Though separated in body the hearts still paired.
She hath my heart i need her near.
She hath my heart my mama dear
She hath my heart and she already knows
In a world of thorny bushes she stands out like rose
She hath my heart for she is always by my side
When the sun sets she is my light, she is my guide.
poem by Soul Child
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Nocturn
I walk, I only,
Not I only wake;
Nothing is, this sweet night,
But doth couch and wake
For its love's sake;
Everything, this sweet night,
Couches with its mate.
For whom but for the stealthy-visitant sun
Is the naked moon
Tremulous and elate?
The heaven hath the earth
Its own and all apart;
The hush-ed pool holdeth
A star to its heart.
You may think the rose sleepeth,
But though she folded is,
The wind doubts her sleeping;
Not all the rose sleeps,
But smiles in her sweet heart
For crafty bliss.
The wind lieth with the rose,
And when he stirs, she stirs in her repose:
The wind hath the rose,
And the rose her kiss.
Ah, mouth of me!
Is it then that this
Seemeth much to thee?--
I wander only.
The rose hath her kiss.
poem by Francis Thompson
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The Call I Never Heeded
Methinks, perhaps you are the call I never heeded;
Perchance not too, more than all I ever needed-
At a time when I longed so much for same,
God sent me an Empyrean gift, upon which He did proclaim:
'I have watched over thee with pride, all of your days
My child, as you are most deserving of such!
I have done same with still another, due great praise-
You hath been made to consort with one another-as much
There is, for one to offer the other, and same, contrariwise-
Soon, both of you shall be privy to a love none could disguise!
Always shall thee have cause to celebrate cheerfully-
Not shall thee have cause to look upon this at all, fearfully!
This is but meant to inspire in you, the utmost regard
For all that is beauteous and fair-to serve as your guard
Against doubt that true felicity is all but impossible-
To bear witness that it is here, now with thee-not implausible! '
Doubt not that which hath given no cause for same,
Hold not liable those, whence others are to blame!
Question not a glory due another glory's fleeting-
Our's is a glory of its own, as surely as my heart is now beating!
Frangible, I know thou heart to be;
Import of its guard, you needn't impart to me-
I know now, and have always had privity
To the affairs of mine own heart and its emotivity;
My own beatitude depends upon that of my soul's mate-
Should there now be any doubt, I ask time to abate!
Maurice Harris,16 May 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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He who hath gold hath fear, and he who hath none has sorrow.
You're My Mate
Ill tell you what I think, I think shes a cow
Shes let you down too many times now
Lets go for a drink, forget it for now
Put It behind you, I think its your round
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate
Ill tell you what I think, I think hes a pain
He aint got a car, but he drives you insane
Lets go for a drink and sink a few
Enough about him lets talk about you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
TAXI
song performed by by Right Said Fred
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kiswar Q'inti
The Royal Hummingbird of the North has entered this body
penetrating the solar plexus
infiltrating each cell
she brings with her the sweetness of all the flowers of the world
How can I be angry for even one second that you are gone?
She brings with her the Ancestors
the Grandmothers and Grandfathers
now I will never be alone
How can I ever be insincere again?
The vigilant Falcon who lived here before is confused
now the Hummingbird and the Falcon must make their peace
May it be so
This is my victory:
You are not the first longing thought as I wake to the morning
You are not the last night-thought as I fall into dreaming
This is my task:
To hold the tension between the miraculous and the tragic.
*Quechua for the Royal Hummingbird
poem by Joan Woodbridge
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My hut
My house in a slum is a hut.
To it I return every night.
In it lives as grown stale my mate.
My hut and my mate are a safe bet
To me who am shut to other huts.
To sleep in I return to my hut.
To sleep with, I return to my mate.
I am used to it, though a hut.
19.03.2007.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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My Beloved's Ardor
One day, not so long since passed, I heard those words, three-
I knew then and there, I had gained my beloved's ardor, truly!
It is I that she doth adore, she did share with me, the same;
As my heart surely hath been thieved-so too her's-I, amorously to blame!
Sikerly I know what the proffer of her heart doth truly mean-
To covet and honor this calling shall I; No finer glory hath my mind's eye e'er seen!
Two worlds of wonder, each universally unique,
Hath once again come together and do seek
What assuredly is the solitary mate for each other's soul,
Looking to reunite with their hearts, which the other stole!
I have seen and do attest to its Empyrean truth;
To agnize like, you need not seek attestation nor even sleuth!
As water seeks its own level, so too doth love, indeed;
Once a love's true compeer hath been met, it must accede!
Maurice Harris,23 May 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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Three Pictures Continued
The first, a woman, nobly limbed and fair,
Standeth at sunset by a famed far sea.
Red are her lips as Love's own kisses were,
Yet speak they never though they smile on me.
An old knight, next, and arméd cap--à--pie,
Watcheth the slaughtered clay that was his heir.
The winding--sheet is not more white than he,
Hath sat since dawn and hath not shed a tear.
The third a tortured bull about to die
In the arena. No proud infidel
E'er laid his dripping spears more scornfully
In Spanish dust; for he too, ere he fell,
Hath slain a man. Ah Christ! That murderous eye
Burneth athirst like the red pit of Hell.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Post Mortem.
When I have passed the bourne of ear and eye,
And thou my whereabouts no more canst tell;
When all I am is but a phantasy,
Seen in thy heart, to none else visible:
When haply slow time shall have faded then,
And thee too brought to thy departure here,
But call me in the spirit, and again
My soul, that was thy mate, shall answer, dear!
Then from the confines of that shadowy clime
As in a visionary light I'll come
To where, within the fading fields of time,
Thy soul waits mine, with whom to journey home
Till, with thy hand in mine, we take our way
Where all that we have been is ours for aye.
poem by Robert Crawford
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The Recital Of My Heart's Glory
I am bereft of sentiment worthy of mine own wondrous emotion
As my verity, at long last, hath given cause for soul's devotion;
As though predestined, reality meets with my heart's fanciful intuition,
My oft-imagined, life-long somniation hath come to wonderful fruition!
Once, as a child I did glimpse same, yet 'twas fleeting, and I, not prime;
Now, as a man, I bear witness to this grace again-this beauty, sublime!
For every man or monad thought inviolable, there exists impuissance-
Mine hath the form of a dichotomy, as she exudes with pleasance!
Nary doth a moment fleet whence thought is not consumed with such-
Periodically, I must cause remind, lest I should think it all, too much!
All this, yet still, an adjoining hath not been, for years, score-
To muse, whensoever same comes again-all, and evermore!
Hath there ever been such an eminent, empyrean, story?
Lo, there hath been-and it is surely the recital of my heart's glory!
Maurice Harris,1 December 2009
poem by Maurice Harris
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Human is different
I’ll grow, blossom and bear before I die,
Every plant wishes.
I’ll grow, mate and beget before I die,
Every animal wishes.
I’ll show that I grow, own and bear till I die,
Human being strangely wishes.
14.04.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Spring Morning I
Thomalin.
Where is every piping lad
That the fields are not yclad
With their milk-white sheep?
Tell me: is it holiday,
Or if in the month of May
Use they long to sleep?
Piers.
Thomalin, 'tis not too late,
For the turtle and her mate
Sitten yet in nest:
And the thrustle hath not been
Gath'ring worms yet on the green,
But attends her rest.
Not a bird hath taught her young,
Nor her morning's lesson sung
In the shady grove:
But the nightingale in dark
Singing woke the mounting lark:
She records her love.
Not the sun hath with his beams
Gilded yet our crystal streams;
Rising from the sea,
Mists do crown the mountains' tops,
And each pretty myrtle drops:
'Tis but newly day.
poem by William Browne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Who Hath The Courage?
Who hath courage? Not the hero
Leading in the strife,
To receive a nation's plaudits,
For his waste of life.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He alone who dares
Act up to his own convictions,
And the right declares.
Who hath courage? Not the tyrant
Boasting of his skill,
To enslave and bind his fellow
At his simple will.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He that doth proclaim,
Unto all their right to freedom,
Every man the same.
Who hath courage? Not the sober,
Or untempted one,
Who hath never had his stomach
Eaten out by rum.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He who though he may
Have been using poison freely,
Throws the cup away.
Who hath courage? Not the daring,
Reckless pugilist,
Who for wager smites a brother,
With uplifted fist.
Who, then, is it that hath courage?
He that won't resent
Every little insult given
With a base intent.
poem by Benjamin Cutler Clark
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The Falcon
the falcon encased in stone,
on the steps of the temple...
silent too long, boils with rage.
and with one final surge,
of unrestrained passion,
breaks free from the pedestal,
with the fury of need!
long wings covered with dust,
unfurling with beauty.
take to the air,
almost gulping with flight.
eyes too long dim,
blaze with raw hunger.
the falcon loosed,
driven for the taste of flesh!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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