Measure, is Treasure.
Scotch proverbs
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Ill Take Love
(words & music by fuller / barkon)
Some people think that pot of gold
Is all they ever want to hold
But theres a treasure, I think more of
Measure for measure .. Ill take love
Some people think that their success
Is all they need for happiness
But theres a pleasure, I think more of
Measure for measure .. Ill take love
Pound for pound oh yeah and
Ounce for ounce love is all that really counts
So let them have their wealth and fame
Eat caviar and drink champagne
Youre all the treasure Im dreaming of
Measure for measure .. Ill take love
Pound for pound oh yeah and
Ounce for ounce love is all that really counts
So let them have their wealth and fame
Eat caviar and drink champagne
Youre all the treasure Im dreaming of
Measure for measure .. Ill take love
Ill take love, Ill take love
Ill take love, Ill take love
song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Measure Of Love
The measure of love, in truth, is this:
To treasure each sigh, close by, then kiss!
I've revelled each girl I yearn,
Just to discern the measure of love!
Soft embraces, gazes... In search for one true friend...
Let go... then watching love grow...
Then lips pressed tight, just right,
As if our two hearts said, 'Hello! '
Love prays this is so...
The measure is true in gentlemen...
Right out of the blue! So who knows when?
It's meant to astound you, too...
So you can view the measure of love!
The measure of love, in truth, is this:
To treasure each sigh, close by, then kiss!
I've revelled each girl I yearn,
Just to discern the measure of love!
Soft embraces, gazes... In search for one true friend...
Let go... then watching love grow...
Then lips pressed tight, just right,
As if our two hearts said, 'Hello! '
Love prays this is so...
The measure is true in gentlemen...
Right out of the blue! So who knows when?
It's meant to astound you, too...
So you can view the measure of love!
poem by Denis Martindale
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Quatrains Of Life
What has my youth been that I love it thus,
Sad youth, to all but one grown tedious,
Stale as the news which last week wearied us,
Or a tired actor's tale told to an empty house?
What did it bring me that I loved it, even
With joy before it and that dream of Heaven,
Boyhood's first rapture of requited bliss,
What did it give? What ever has it given?
'Let me recount the value of my days,
Call up each witness, mete out blame and praise,
Set life itself before me as it was,
And--for I love it--list to what it says.
Oh, I will judge it fairly. Each old pleasure
Shared with dead lips shall stand a separate treasure.
Each untold grief, which now seems lesser pain,
Shall here be weighed and argued of at leisure.
I will not mark mere follies. These would make
The count too large and in the telling take
More tears than I can spare from seemlier themes
To cure its laughter when my heart should ache.
Only the griefs which are essential things,
The bitter fruit which all experience brings;
Nor only of crossed pleasures, but the creed
Men learn who deal with nations and with kings.
All shall be counted fairly, griefs and joys,
Solely distinguishing 'twixt mirth and noise,
The thing which was and that which falsely seemed,
Pleasure and vanity, man's bliss and boy's.
So I shall learn the reason of my trust
In this poor life, these particles of dust
Made sentient for a little while with tears,
Till the great ``may--be'' ends for me in ``must.''
My childhood? Ah, my childhood! What of it
Stripped of all fancy, bare of all conceit?
Where is the infancy the poets sang?
Which was the true and which the counterfeit?
I see it now, alas, with eyes unsealed,
That age of innocence too well revealed.
The flowers I gathered--for I gathered flowers--
Were not more vain than I in that far field.
[...] Read more
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Beowulf
LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls. Since erst he lay
friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,
till before him the folk, both far and near,
who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,
gave him gifts: a good king he!
To him an heir was afterward born,
a son in his halls, whom heaven sent
to favor the folk, feeling their woe
that erst they had lacked an earl for leader
so long a while; the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world's renown.
Famed was this Beowulf: far flew the boast of him,
son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands.
So becomes it a youth to quit him well
with his father's friends, by fee and gift,
that to aid him, aged, in after days,
come warriors willing, should war draw nigh,
liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds
shall an earl have honor in every clan.
Forth he fared at the fated moment,
sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.
Then they bore him over to ocean's billow,
loving clansmen, as late he charged them,
while wielded words the winsome Scyld,
the leader beloved who long had ruled….
In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel,
ice-flecked, outbound, atheling's barge:
there laid they down their darling lord
on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings,
by the mast the mighty one. Many a treasure
fetched from far was freighted with him.
No ship have I known so nobly dight
with weapons of war and weeds of battle,
with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay
a heaped hoard that hence should go
far o'er the flood with him floating away.
No less these loaded the lordly gifts,
thanes' huge treasure, than those had done
who in former time forth had sent him
sole on the seas, a suckling child.
High o'er his head they hoist the standard,
a gold-wove banner; let billows take him,
gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits,
mournful their mood. No man is able
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Buried Treasure
Now if the aim in your life is to settle me down
I couldnt change my point of view
I got a lady in red at the back of my head
But the women in white is you
Do you wanna be the only one
Fade away in the morning sun
I could love you all of my life
You are my wife
Havent I let you know
We dont need no buried treasure
No buried treasure - we dont need it
We dont stand on ceremony
I love you only - Im proud of it
You can never be all you wanna be
When youre living for gold
We dont need no buried treasure
I still got you
I still go you in my soul
Well its a long way down and you gotta get up
You got to figure on a master plan
You couldnt do it if you dont get ready
When youre beaten by the other man
Do you wanna be the last one in
Play the game that you just dont win
I can see me making you cry
Saying goodbye
But I could never let you go
We dont need no buried treasure
No buried treasure - we dont need it
We dont stand on ceremony
I love you only - Im proud of it
You can never be all you wanna be
When youre living for gold
We dont need no buried treasure
I still got you
I still got you in my soul
Well youre taking my life in the palm of your hand
Make you mine for another day
Aint nobody doesnt need anybody
When the good times turn away
I dont wanna be the lonely one
Fade away in the evening sun
I could love you all of my life
You are my wife
Havent I told you so
We dont need no buried treasure
No, buried treasure - we dont need it
We dont stand on ceremony
I love you only - Im proud of it
You can never be all you wanna be
[...] Read more
song performed by Bee Gees
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How Do You Measure Up?
If you measure yourself by ambition,
There will always be someone more ambitious than you.
If you measure yourself by money,
There is always someone wealthier than you.
If you measure yourself by power,
There is always someone more powerful than you.
If you measure yourself with material things,
There is always someone with more stuff than you.
If you measure yourself by where you are in life,
There is always someone farther down the path than you.
If you measure yourself by appearance,
There is always someone that appears than you.
If you measure yourself by God,
Then we are all the same.
We are all wonderfully and beautifully made.
God is love.
And love has no end.
So in God's heart,
You will always measure up!
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Buried Treasure
Now if the aim in your life is to settle me down I couldn't change my point of view
I got a lady in red at the back of my head but the woman in white is you
Do you wanna be the only one, fade away in the mornin' sun
I could love you all of my life, you are my wife, haven't I let you know-ow
We don't need no buried treasure, no buried treasure, we don't need it
We don't stand on ceremony but life is phony in spite of it
You can never be all you wanna be when you're searchin' for gold
We don't need no buried treasure, I've still got you (still got you, still got you)
I've still got you in my sou-ou-oul
Well it's a long way down and you gotta get up, you gotta figure on a master plan
You couldn't do it, if you don't get ready, you'll be beaten by the other man
Do you wanna be the last one in, play the game that you just don't win
I can see me makin' you cry, sayin' goodbye, but I could never let you go-o
We don't need no buried treasure, no buried treasure, we don't need it
We don't stand on ceremony but life is phony in spite of it
You can never be all you wanna be when you're searchin' for gold
We don't need no buried treasure, I've still got you (still got you, still got you)
I've still got you in my sou-ou-oul
Well you're takin' my life in the palm of your hand, make you mine for another day
Ain't nobody doesn't need anybody when the good times turn away
I don't wanna be the lonely one, fade away in the evenin' sun
I could love you all of my life, you are my wife, haven't I told you so-o
We don't need no buried treasure, no buried treasure, we don't need it
(Baby we don't need i-i-it)
We don't stand on ceremony but life is
song performed by Kenny Rogers
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The Measure Of Men
what is the measure of one man
is it the measure of one's strength
I think not
is it the measure of one's stature such as height
I don't think so
is it how wealthy one is
not even close
or is it how much power one possesses over another
not impressive
can a measure of a man be measured with a yardstick
well it can but that park doesn't show he's a man
the tolerance of a man for another man hitting him
can be measured with a ruler
the tolerance of a man for another man attacking his country
can be measured with a grain of salt
the tolerance of a man for another man hitting the one's he loves
now that can only be measured within a whisper
you can only measure a individual man or woman
with how big their heart is and
what qualities lie within that heart
such as dignity for what he works for
such as a stable household for his famly
compassion for people in need
the understanding of what's right and what's wrong
the pride of not what he has done but what
his wife and child has done
the sweat
the blood
and the tears he spars
to keep his marriage from falling apart
once you find a way to measure those things then
and only then will you be able to say
that is
because that is certainly
the real measure of all men
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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If you never stand in glory
If you never stand in glory
If you never find 15 minutes of fame
I will tell your story
I’ll stand up and chant your name
If you measure yourself
With your own hands
If you don’t make excuses
If you do the best you can
You’ll be my hero
The heart, young one
Is the measure of the man.
If you don’t break the record
But yet you run the race
If you give it all your effort
And come in second place
If you do the best you can
You’ll be my hero
The heart young one,
Is the measure of the man.
If don’t sing in the spotlight
But refrained into the chorus
If you don’t climb MT Everest
But spend time in the forest
You’ll be my hero
The heart young one
Is the measure of the man.
If you don’t’ get elected
But you shake every hand
If the cause is effected
If clearly mark out where you stand
If you do the best you can
You’ll be my hero
The heart young one
Is the measure of the man.
IF you lose your direction
And meander for awhile
But seek out the correction
With each foot of every mile
You’ll be my hero
[...] Read more
poem by Eaton Bard
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The Task: Book VI. -- The Winter Walk at Noon
There is in souls a sympathy with sounds;
And as the mind is pitch’d the ear is pleased
With melting airs, or martial, brisk, or grave:
Some chord in unison with what we hear
Is touch’d within us, and the heart replies.
How soft the music of those village bells,
Falling at intervals upon the ear
In cadence sweet, now dying all away,
Now pealing loud again, and louder still,
Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on!
With easy force it opens all the cells
Where Memory slept. Wherever I have heard
A kindred melody, the scene recurs,
And with it all its pleasures and its pains.
Such comprehensive views the spirit takes,
That in a few short moments I retrace
(As in a map the voyager his course)
The windings of my way through many years.
Short as in retrospect the journey seems,
It seem’d not always short; the rugged path,
And prospect oft so dreary and forlorn,
Moved many a sigh at its disheartening length.
Yet, feeling present evils, while the past
Faintly impress the mind, or not at all,
How readily we wish time spent revoked,
That we might try the ground again, where once
(Through inexperience, as we now perceive)
We miss’d that happiness we might have found!
Some friend is gone, perhaps his son’s best friend,
A father, whose authority, in show
When most severe, and mustering all its force,
Was but the graver countenance of love:
Whose favour, like the clouds of spring, might lower,
And utter now and then an awful voice,
But had a blessing in its darkest frown,
Threatening at once and nourishing the plant.
We loved, but not enough, the gentle hand
That rear’d us. At a thoughtless age, allured
By every gilded folly, we renounced
His sheltering side, and wilfully forewent
That converse, which we now in vain regret.
How gladly would the man recall to life
The boy’s neglected sire! a mother too,
That softer friend, perhaps more gladly still,
Might he demand them at the gates of death.
Sorrow has, since they went, subdued and tamed
The playful humour; he could now endure
(Himself grown sober in the vale of tears)
And feel a parent’s presence no restraint.
But not to understand a treasure’s worth
[...] Read more
poem by William Cowper
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Music
I
PRELUDE
Daughter of Psyche, pledge of that last night
When, pierced with pain and bitter-sweet delight,
She knew her Love and saw her Lord depart,
Then breathed her wonder and her woe forlorn
Into a single cry, and thou wast born?
Thou flower of rapture and thou fruit of grief;
Invisible enchantress of the heart;
Mistress of charms that bring relief
To sorrow, and to joy impart
A heavenly tone that keeps it undefiled,--
Thou art the child
Of Amor, and by right divine
A throne of love is thine,
Thou flower-folded, golden-girdled, star-crowned Queen,
Whose bridal beauty mortal eyes have never seen!
II
Thou art the Angel of the pool that sleeps,
While peace and joy lie hidden in its deeps,
Waiting thy touch to make the waters roll
In healing murmurs round the weary soul.
Ah, when wilt thou draw near,
Thou messenger of mercy robed in song?
My lonely heart has listened for thee long;
And now I seem to hear
Across the crowded market-place of life,
Thy measured foot-fall, ringing light and clear
Above the unmeaning noises and the unruly strife;
In quiet cadence, sweet and slow,
Serenely pacing to and fro,
Thy far-off steps are magical and dear.
Ah, turn this way, come close and speak to me!
>From this dull bed of languor set my spirit free,
And bid me rise, and let me walk awhile with thee
III
Where wilt thou lead me first?
In what still region
Of thy domain,
Whose provinces are legion,
Wilt thou restore me to myself again,
And quench my heart's long thirst?
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Farewell Misunderstandings - Parody John Dryden - Farewell, Ungrateful Traitor!
Farewell, misunderstandings
Farewell, past perjury!
Let not unhappy landings
void voyage verity.
The pleasure of possessing
surpasses all expressing
though bitter-sweet its blessing
once seemed, heave-ho heart’s pain!
If upgrades site proposes
can't counter weary tears
when downgrade fate opposes
encounters change of gears,
those trophies once adorning
night, morning, witness mourning,
departure tells no dawning
when Judgement Day appears.
Deceptions past prepare us,
for neither pity, pain,
though some say: “Should you leave us,
has journey proved in vain? ”
Before you have denied it
there is no bliss beside it
yet she that once has tried it
shall find joy where all gain.
Some passion have pretended,
as game aimed to obtain
your charms – their charm soon ended,
the charmer you disdain.
Past tears have taken measure
of losing precious treasure,
but parting seems slight pleasure
when sharing hopes again.
© Jonathan Robin 16 June 2007 Parody John Dryden - Farewell, Ungrateful Traitor! revised 19 October 2008 for previous version see below
Farewell, misunderstandings
Farewell, past perjury!
Let not unhappy landings
Presume life’s verity.
The pleasure of possessing
Surpasses all expressing
Though bitter-sweet its blessing
Once seemed, - farewell Love’s pain.
Deceptions past prepare us,
For neither pity, pain,
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Iliad: Book 24
The assembly now broke up and the people went their ways each to his
own ship. There they made ready their supper, and then bethought
them of the blessed boon of sleep; but Achilles still wept for
thinking of his dear comrade, and sleep, before whom all things bow,
could take no hold upon him. This way and that did he turn as he
yearned after the might and manfulness of Patroclus; he thought of all
they had done together, and all they had gone through both on the
field of battle and on the waves of the weary sea. As he dwelt on
these things he wept bitterly and lay now on his side, now on his
back, and now face downwards, till at last he rose and went out as one
distraught to wander upon the seashore. Then, when he saw dawn
breaking over beach and sea, he yoked his horses to his chariot, and
bound the body of Hector behind it that he might drag it about. Thrice
did he drag it round the tomb of the son of Menoetius, and then went
back into his tent, leaving the body on the ground full length and
with its face downwards. But Apollo would not suffer it to be
disfigured, for he pitied the man, dead though he now was; therefore
he shielded him with his golden aegis continually, that he might
take no hurt while Achilles was dragging him.
Thus shamefully did Achilles in his fury dishonour Hector; but the
blessed gods looked down in pity from heaven, and urged Mercury,
slayer of Argus, to steal the body. All were of this mind save only
Juno, Neptune, and Jove's grey-eyed daughter, who persisted in the
hate which they had ever borne towards Ilius with Priam and his
people; for they forgave not the wrong done them by Alexandrus in
disdaining the goddesses who came to him when he was in his
sheepyards, and preferring her who had offered him a wanton to his
ruin.
When, therefore, the morning of the twelfth day had now come,
Phoebus Apollo spoke among the immortals saying, "You gods ought to be
ashamed of yourselves; you are cruel and hard-hearted. Did not
Hector burn you thigh-bones of heifers and of unblemished goats? And
now dare you not rescue even his dead body, for his wife to look upon,
with his mother and child, his father Priam, and his people, who would
forthwith commit him to the flames, and give him his due funeral
rites? So, then, you would all be on the side of mad Achilles, who
knows neither right nor ruth? He is like some savage lion that in
the pride of his great strength and daring springs upon men's flocks
and gorges on them. Even so has Achilles flung aside all pity, and all
that conscience which at once so greatly banes yet greatly boons him
that will heed it. man may lose one far dearer than Achilles has lost-
a son, it may be, or a brother born from his own mother's womb; yet
when he has mourned him and wept over him he will let him bide, for it
takes much sorrow to kill a man; whereas Achilles, now that he has
slain noble Hector, drags him behind his chariot round the tomb of his
comrade. It were better of him, and for him, that he should not do so,
for brave though he be we gods may take it ill that he should vent his
fury upon dead clay."
Juno spoke up in a rage. "This were well," she cried, "O lord of the
silver bow, if you would give like honour to Hector and to Achilles;
[...] Read more
poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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Treasure
you are a valuable treasure, a treasure that is second to none, a rare treasure, priceless treasure, a treasure which every ones desire in his heart, a treasure that every heart awaited to explore.
poem by Tijani Adebowale Destiny
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Scared Money
Come to my window
I'll leave it open
Sometimes a girl just needs fresh air
I have a garden
Do you like flowers
Just through the gates it is my world
Lets take a ride
You'll drive my car
We'll put the top down and name stars
I have this candy
My mother gave me
I'll share if you don't tell no one
I know you're afraid to come with me
But tonight I'm gonna present you with pleasure, with pleasure
See scared money don't make none
So role with me and I will be your treasure, your treasure
I know you're afraid to come with me
But tonight I'm gonna present you with pleasure, with pleasure
See scared money don't make none
So role with me and I will be your treasure, your treasure
It's rainng now
I'm soaking wet but I think I like it baby
It's hot in here
I'll make it clear that I really want you baby
I'm fighting porn and it's still morning
You make me leave my conscience baby
I'm not scared of truth or dare
But nothing is just nonsense baby
I know you're afraid to come with me
But tonight I'm gonna present you with pleasure, with pleasure
See scared money don't make none
So role with me and I will be your treasure, your treasure
song performed by Kelis
Added by Lucian Velea
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Lost Treasure Chest
Magical treasure chest made of gold,
has in it many stories to be told.
On one uneventful day,
Golden treasure chest was taken away.
I had it packed in back room with shoes,
that’s when someone decided to lose,
my treasure chest right on site,
hide it from me with all their mite.
Luckily I went to store
found 20 treasure chests more galore.
Painted one up really quick,
I had a art show party within a week.
Watercolor paintings of Melodie,
hang on wall for children to see.
see along with Krendoll island set,
They would play on it and not forget
Forget the magic of Krendoll island I did make,
with birthday props like birthday cake.
Art show birthday party at Mexican Bizarre,
I set up the birthday party with a star.
Children showed up to find presents and unfreeze,
dragons that would begin to sneeze.
Once they had the heat device,
which was magical and would suffice,
To melt the spell on them,
[...] Read more
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Those' Images Made
People love to treasure those images made.
Those images created to help them escape,
From depictions of reality.
And the way the displaying of it is portrayed.
People love to treasure those images made.
People love to treasure those images made.
The ones flowered to sugar without a bitter taste.
Those images glammed up to spotlight,
On a public stage.
But behind the scenes indignities can be mean.
Yet...
People love to treasure those images made.
And their minds are affixed to them to defend...
Every blemish that is openly seen.
Since people who love their images made...
Have not been conditioned on reality to feast.
People love to treasure those images made.
Those images created to help them escape,
From depictions of reality.
And the way the displaying of it is portrayed.
People love to treasure those images made,
With an excusing of detrimental flaws and pain shown.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Treasured
A treasure that was given,
Was dismissed before declared.
The value of it was unknown...
So its purpose was not shared.
It sat amongst the midst of the people.
And they ignored its glow.
They ignored the power of it.
And for years its existence,
The people claimed not to know.
One day the treasure was spotted by a stranger.
Someone who had lived and been around.
Someone who knew what to value in life...
And stumbled accidently,
Upon this small town.
Instantly the treasure was recognized.
And the stranger could not believe what was seen.
The treasure was grateful a respect was shown.
And the people were surprised...
What had been announced by the stranger,
Had not been known!
But it was too late!
The treasure was only there,
To have someone appreciate it.
That appreciation was given!
And the stranger and the treasure...
Forever became enriched friends.
And left together feeling blessed,
They had found each other treasured!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Grandma's Treasure Box
Each of us
when we reached 14
would make the Visit to
Grandmothers house
to see what was inside
her Treasure Box;
the Family Treasure Box
where each year
one of us
got to see
what she had
hidden there..
My Dad had been;
my older brother
had been
and now it was my turn
to see that part of
Family History.
No one who'd seen
could talk of it.
No one could reveal to anyone
what was in Grandma's secret box.
No one did.
No one would risk
Grandmother's upset.
She lived beneath
the 'L' in Chicago
refusing to move
and they built
the tracks
right over her house;
each time one passed
it rocked her house
like rolling thunder;
Varoom, clacky clack
another one
going by.
Stubborn was not the word
for Grandmother.
She still wrote letters
30 years later
[...] Read more
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Lost Treasure Chest
Magical treasure chest made of gold,
has in it many stories to be told.
On one uneventful day,
Golden treasure chest was taken away.
I had it packed in back room with shoes,
that's when someone decided to lose,
my treasure chest right on site,
hide it from me with all their mite.
Luckily I went to store
found 20 treasure chests more galore.
Painted one up really quick,
I had a art show party within a week.
Watercolor paintings of Melodie,
hang on wall for children to see.
see along with Krendoll island set,
They would play on it and not forget
Forget the magic of Krendoll island I did make,
with birthday props like birthday cake.
Art show birthday party at Mexican Bizarre,
I set up the birthday party with a star.
Children showed up to find presents and unfreeze,
dragons that would begin to sneeze.
Once they had the heat device,
which was magical and would suffice,
To melt the spell on them,
[...] Read more
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Added by Poetry Lover
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