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I am the most well-known homosexual in the world.

quote by Elton John
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dawns of the world, how I have known you all...

Dawns of the world, how I have known you all,
so many, and so varied, and the same!
dawns o'er the timid plains, or in the folds
of the arm'd hills, or by the unsleeping shore;
a chill touch on the chill flesh of the dark
that, shuddering, shrinks from its couch, and leaves
a homeless light, staring, disconsolate,
on the drear world it knows too well, the world
it fled and finds again, its wistful hope
unmet by any miracle of night,
that mocks it rather, with its shreds that hang
about the woods and huddled bulks of gloom
that crouch, malicious, in the broken combes,
witness to foulnesses else unreveal'd
that visit earth and violate her dreams
in the lone hours when only evil wakes.

poem by Christopher John Brennan
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Too Well Known

So many now are attempting to defend themselves,
Out of situations they have created.

So many are in denial their activities,
Have placed them in jeopardy.
And today they seek others to see them differently.
They wished erased what they can not face.
With a replacement of something that is not so ugly.
But it is much too late for an empathy to them to be shown!

Their 'realities' inflicted upon others...
Has been too well known!
And I could care less,
About their refreshed and awakened points of view.
There has been too many yesterdays,
That much agony they have put me through.
And you too!

And based upon that alone...
They will find I am not the forgiving kind!
You can decide for yourself,
What it is you should do.
And please do not allow what I say,
To influence you.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Most Beautiful Woman In The World

She is the most beautiful woman in the world.
Yet! She doesn’t have fancy clothes, or makeup.
She doesn’t even have a first name, nor does she speak.
But people come from all over the world just to see
Our beautiful MISS LIBERTY.

She sits in our harbor and greets all human race
From the air, land, or from the sea
She has become a part of me.
She fills every heart with a warm glow
And day to day she puts on a show.

She stands on a mound with her arm held high
Holding freedoms torch to the sky.
Her robe is the robe of justice
And she wears it quite well
Look at her closely and you can tell.

Freedom is not really free - for you may
Have to fight for liberty
Just open your eyes and look around
Communist nations have fallen to the ground
Arab countries are fighting for their rights
And it is a long and perilous flight
But freedoms bell will forever ring
it is the one and only lasting thing.

poem by Louis Rams
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Your Hero Is A Well Known Local

The one who is hailed by the masses will never be a hero to you
Your hero is a quiet achiever to his dedications he's true
An honest and a hard working person and one of high integrity
You have placed him on a pedestal to you there's none greater than he.

Your hero is a well known local and in his work he takes great pride
He is admired and respected by many but he'll never be known far and wide
He's one who leads by good example one to help you out if he could
And for the local community he is one who has done so much good.

He is such a down to earth person and none more hard working than he
One who derives much satisfaction in each sporting local victory
A generous and a likeable fellow and a familiar face of the Town
He's happy to be a well known local and he does not yearn for World-wide renown.

I do like your sort of a hero a person that you do know well
Of any huge business adventures he does not have stories to tell
When you say you'll follow in his footsteps you are walking on solid ground
Why look up to a World renowned hero when there's a local hero to be found.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Women of the world (english)

We men know only one thing.
What is it that we want? We want a woman!
And it all ends there; we don't know how to get you,
Where to find you and what to do to please you?

And when we do, we still do not understand you completely.
We do not know what to say and when to say it.
Nor do we know how to keep that spark lost in the storm.
If anyone knows this, he is truly a wise and lucky man.

Women of the world,
never be discouraged you've not found love.
There's always someone who does,
they're just too shy and scared to let you know, in their own way.

Women of the world,
there is beauty within each one of you.
It takes the right man to find it, to bring it out.
Just like the way a key opens a lock.

Women of the world,
Every where you go, you turn heads twice.
Not as objects of desire,
but as a unique display of beauty, different from the other.

Women of the world,
there are many secretly admiring you.
Hiding and thinking about you,
but you somehow have a way of making them known.

Women of the world,
for you, they sell flowers so colourful and sweet smelling.
They’re a reminder, to thank you for being a part of their world,
not a comparison to the subtlety you hold.

Women of the world,
for you communication goes beyond its abilities.
There’s just no stopping, to get what we get from you,
that certain happiness when you acknowledge and thank us.

Women of the world,
you're the reason men be men.
You’re the hope to know they aren't alone amongst a crowd.
You're the lines on his palm that tells him,
he's the man he wants to be.

Women of the world,
when you look into a man's eyes,
do you see what he gets from you?
Because what you see is what you get.

Women of the world,
be patient with the one in love with you.
It takes him time to understand you well.
You’re not as easy to please as we thought it would.

Women of the world,
Love the man for being so patient with you.
It's hard to put all the pieces of what we think, is a puzzle.
He tries all ways, sometimes even the wrong ways
to tell you, that you're understood.
Be proud, he has tried and tries again.

Women of the world,
for you, there is sadness in a man's heart.
For you he weeps, losing you once,
for you he's in misery, losing you again.

Women of the world,
Every where there is beauty, there is a heart pleased.
For you, the strongest men become as soft as a kiss.
Knowing they can run, back into your arms.

Women of the world,
You’re the one that holds the fruit of tomorrow.
For their smile and walk will be yours,
to carry on what you have taught them.

Women of the world,
there is no greater worldly love we get from you,
than that which comes from within.
It's priceless, but more importantly, a precious gift.

Women of the world,
remember every time you do something,
you're leaving a thought of kindness and compassion,
in a person's life that needs it.

Women of the world,
you're the reason wonderful stories exist.
Also, the reasons most stories have an ending.
You're a gift From the Almighty, to be our companion.
The purpose there’s gaps between our fingers.

Women of the world,
you're the reason a man leaves his mother and father,
to be united with you and become one.
Because of you we fall into deep sleep.

Woman of the world,
If you did not exist, I’m sure all men
would’ve ended up in hell.
Help us to know and love you more.

Women of the world,
For each one of you I dedicate this poem,
I have learned more just by knowing you,
Yet, I know so little.

-Lloydoftherings

poem by Lloydoftherings Fletcher
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Blanket Syd - The World Anew

All I seek is a lust beyond the want for climax,
I seek a beauty with which to trust my soul;
A beauty to make me whole in knowing
We flow as one in the same.

Inside placid beasts lay tamed
As angels outside play games un-named.

Gabrielle opens up her eyes to you, turning her head ornamental,
Beseeching to minds lost in wonderment oriental philosophies on which to ponder.
She holds within her form the innocence of the lamb still she retains a knowledge of the flesh.
She feeds the imagination with promises of sexual gratification fresh as golden fabrics flow in swallowing her form. Her head turns upon a spine cast within the kiln as Blanket Syd distorts the visions of the helmsman holding fantasy captive within the bounds of reality.
She stands domineering in her stance. Daring you to dance for her – she’s daring you to throw inhibition from upon your shoulders - She’s daring you to know Love as your lover.

Red skin gum sticks the joint your holding stiff with your thumb.
Roll. Succumb to the numbing of the senses as the imagination leaps
In bounding, the imagination lay forever lost in searching – attempting to find that which was never there to be found.

Bend the words upon a whim
Skim the surface, don’t break the skin.

Remember, I remember the first time I saw myself from the past
A beard full in flowing clung to my cheeks, my knees forever weak within an age of longing.

Stroke the beast that keeps you calm
So soft to touch upon the palm of your hand.

Lost is ever generation, lost beyond a care.

How old these souls must be now in reflecting upon the time they spent trashed
Crashed out with Joplin’s tones upon the airwaves, screaming the blues to a tune
Of orchestral happiness – Still the blues shine through forever bound within the tragedy
Of a flower born aloft upon the wind. For every song she sung a thousand generations will cry
Awaiting her kind to be born again – The myths are made once your dues are paid then poets will sing your laments.

How culture must resent the descent of youths talent deflowered.
The music’s over yet still she holds strong the crowd.

When I think of all the souls I’ve known I know I loved them all.
Never half but always whole.

They say kissing builds up the muscles in your mouth.

Keep on feeding each other, if your too tired to chew pass it on
Next comes some poor fool lost without his cane.

The oracle serves well the mind of the acid soaked mariner
Lost upon surface of disillusionment – the depths of the abyss they beckon
Calling for confrontation – Push away the daemon for a while

Smile.

Lost in his manor, seeking solace in the arms of a strange unknowing caress
You can hear them calling upon the edge of sleep, keeping dry sanity from the rain.

Rise from the floor your throne.

One ear feels thick to the finger
Almost stuffed the other cold
As I shuffle ever knowing each second I am older
Yet time dissolves as we feel Our mother revolve
Turning, spurring on creation anew – Creation through destruction breathes
As nutrients are embraced by the soil of the earth as a given gift from Autumns trees.

I know now that meditation is to be found within the realms of masturbation.

I feel sound within myself yet can seem to lift no idea of construct sane from upon the shelf.
Still Gabrielle sings, whispering soft melodies through the winding corridors of trees.
She offers out her hand to me, promising freedom - She promised I would see the World Tree.
She sings soft as an angels charm, claiming that she hath known no death in life.

In you I perceive a beauty of wonderment
Into you I wish I could flow alike a river
Swollen with freshly thawed waters
Dripping to sip she’s sipping from the drip.

Three hours since my soul supped maddened bliss,
I wonder is this night to be mine alone.
For frozen, inescapable horrors lay slumbering upon the
Verge of perversions fantastic.

Gabrielle stirs my soul once more
Opening up the doorways of my heart
Parting the tides below which I have been hiding.
Magick resides within, empowered words vibrate from upon the paper
Surging through the eyes of the observer.
All we need is to know there is another who understands us
All we need is to know there is another who will love us.

I perceive a beauty untarnished
A beauty; raw and unpolluted
Nature at peace within the most harmonious of forms
Still her proportions differ from the norm whilst riding
The waves of storm clouds over head a-gathering
She herds the clouds with the palm of her hand.

She’s asking you to sing
So that you may know
What Love it is she brings
Beneath a blanket snow.

Love could never know the love I have for Love
War could never know the war I would wage on War.
Hate could never know the hatred I feel for Hate.

Patience beside her virtues waits shaking her head
By the cemetery gates – awaiting us to turn –
Knowing we shall one day learn to take within our stride
The undertakings of the Time’s tides ever crashing –
Ever weathering the pride we take in our forms
She awaits for us to know her shelter from the storm.

Outside the winds await in bated breathe
Un able as they are to rest upon the edge of space
‘Nothing proves a greater obstacle than first thought possible.

Out of the corner of your eye images flicker
Portraits turn as canvas eyeballs tumble in their sockets.
Lips of plastic are waxing.
Feeling inferior can lead us nowhere
But the interior of an asylum you would
Not seek as your sanctuary.
An asylum where they would have you sane
Rather than speaking with the spirits of the Dell.

They play, bubbling upon the edge of the imagination.

Are we not painting in sounds the portrait of an generation
Lost to the comfort of islands in the sky?

You’ve seen them laugh, you’ve heard them cry
Now you know what it is to wonder why.
Why it is we may feel out of proportion with our surroundings
Believing through distortion that we are grounded as
The patterns of surrounding tapestries merge as fuel of
The imaginations wanderings.

No one sees it but I see in her eyes the signs of a soul fully wasted
A which forbidden fruits hath tasted.

Speak truth beyond truth if you think you can find the words,
All it is not to go unheard,
All it is to deny the movement of the herd.

Appreciate the gratitude you find in servitude
Towards the honour of a higher cause.
Pause; consider all it is that fuels
Your attitude upon this journey of ours.

Pass away the days, pass away the hours.
For they are ours to pass away.
Make Love throughout the day
And Hold true the blues you feel
If they are all you consider as real
But know that you may peel away the
Veils of this reality we hath inherited
And you will see the world anew.

poem by David Lacey
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Solomon on the Vanity of the World, A Poem. In Three Books. - Pleasure. Book II.

The Argument

Solomon, again seeking happiness, inquires if wealth and greatness can produce it: begins with the magnificence of gardens and buildings; the luxury of music and feasting; and proceeds to the hopes and desires of love. In two episodes are shown the follies and troubles of that passion. Solomon, still disappointed, falls under the temptations of libertinism and idolatry; recovers his thought; reasons aright; and concludes that, as to the pursuit of pleasure and sensual delight, All Is Vanity and Vexation of Spirit.

Try then, O man, the moments to deceive
That from the womb attend thee to the grave:
For wearied Nature find some apter scheme;
Health be thy hope, and pleasure be thy theme;
From the perplexing and unequal ways
Where Study brings thee from the endless maze
Which Doubt persuades o run, forewarn'd, recede
To the gay field, and flowery path, that lead
To jocund mirth, soft joy, and careless ease:
Forsake what my instruct for what may please:
Essay amusing art and proud expense,
And make thy reason subject to thy sense.

I communed thus: the power of wealth I tried,
And all the various luxe of costly pride;
Artists and plans relieved my solemn hours:
I founded palaces and planted bowers,
Birds, fishes, beasts, of exotic kind
I to the limits of my court confined,
To trees transferr'd I gave a second birth,
And bade a foreign shade grace Judah's earth.
Fish-ponds were made where former forests grew
And hills were levell'd to extend the view.
Rivers, diverted from their native course,
And bound with chains of artificial force,
From large cascades in pleasing tumult roll'd,
Or rose through figured stone or breathing gold.
From furthest Africa's tormented womb
The marble brought, erects the spacious dome,
Or forms the pillars' long-extended rows,
On which the planted grove and pensile garden grows.

The workmen here obey the master's call,
To gild the turret and to paint the wall;
To mark the pavement there with various stone,
And on the jasper steps to rear the throne:
The spreading cedar, that an age had stood,
Supreme of trees, and mistress of the wood,
Cut down and carved, my shining roof adorns,
And Lebanon his ruin'd honour mourns.

A thousand artists show their cunning powers
To raise the wonders of the ivory towers:
A thousand maidens ply the purple loom
To weave the bed and deck the regal room;
Till Tyre confesses her exhausted store,
That on her coast the murex is no more;
Till from the Paian isle and Liby's coast
The mountains grieve their hopes of marble lost
And India's woods return their just complaint,
Their brood decay'd, and want of elephant.

My full design with vast expense achieved,
I came, beheld, admired, reflected, grieved:
I chid the folly of my thoughtless haste,
For, the work perfected, the joy was past.

To my new courts sad Thought did still repair,
And round my gilded roofs hung hovering Care.
In vain on silken beds I sought repose,
And Restless oft from purple couches rose;
Vexatious Thought still found my flying mind,
Nor bound by limits nor to place confined:
Haunted my nights, and terrified my days,
Stalk'd through my gardens, and pursued my ways,
Nor shut from artful bower, nor lost in winding maze.

Yet take thy bent, my soul; another sense
Indulge: add music to magnificence:
Essay if harmony may grief control,
Or power of sound prevail upon the soul.
Often our seers and poets have confess'd
That music's force can tame the furious beast;
Can make the wolf or foaming boar restrain
His rage, the lion drop his crested main,
Attentive to the song; the lynx forget
His wrath to man, and lick the minstrel's feet.
Are we, alas! less savage yet than these?
Else music sure may human cares appease.

I spake my purpose, and the cheerful choir
Parted their shares of harmony: the lyre
Soften'd the timbrel's noise; the trumpet's sound
Provoked the Dorian flute, (both sweeter found
When mix'd) the fife the viol's notes refined,
And every strength with every grace was join'd:
Each morn they waked me with a sprightly lay;
Each evening their repeated skill express'd
Scenes of repose and images of rest;
Yet still in vain; for music gather'd thought;
But how unequal the effects it brought?
The soft ideas of the cheerful note,
Lightly received, were easily forgot;
The solemn violence of the graver sound
Knew to strike deep, and leave a lasting wound.

And now reflecting, I with grief descry
The sickly lust of the fantastic eye;
How the weak organ is with seeing cloy'd,
Flying ere night what it at noon enjoy'd.
And now (unhappy search of thought!) I found
The fickle ear soon glutted with the sound,
Condemn'd eternal changes to pursue,
Tired with the last and eager of the new.

I bade the virgins and the youth advance,
To temper music with the sprightly dance.
In vain! too low the mimic motions seem;
What takes our heart must merit our esteem.
Nature, I thought, perform'd too mean a part,
Forming her movements to the rules of art;
And vex'd I found that the musician's hand
Had o'er the dancer's mind too great command.

I drank; I liked it not: 'twas rage, 'twas noise;
An airy scene of transitory joys,
In vain I trusted that the flowing bowl
Would banish sorrow and enlarge the soul.
To the late revel and protracted feast
Wild dreams succeeded and disorder'd rest;
And as at dawn of morn fair reason's light
Broke through the fumes and phantoms of the night,
What had been said, I ask'd my soul, what done?
How flow'd our mirth, and whence the source begun?
Perhaps the jest that charm'd the sprightly crowd,
And made the jovial table laugh so loud,
To some false notion owed its poor pretence,
To an ambiguous word's percerted sense,
To a wild sonnet, or a wanton air,
Offence and torture to the sober ear,
Perhaps, alas! the pleasing stream was brought
From this man's error, from another's fault;
From topics which good-nature would forget,
And prudence mention with the last regret.

Add yet unnumber'd ills that lie unseen
In the pernicious draught; the word obscene
Or harsh, which once elanced must ever fly
Irrevocable: the too prompt reply,
Seed of severe distrust and fierce debate,
What we should shun, and what we ought to hate.

Add, too, the blood impoverish'd, and the course
Of health suppress'd by wine's continued course.

Unhappy man! whom sorrow thus and rage
To different ills alternately engage;
Who drinks, alas! but to forget; nor sees
That melancholy sloth, severe disease,
Memory confused, and interrupted thought,
Death's harbingers, lie latent in the draught;
And in the flowers that wreath the sparkling bowl
Fell adders hiss, and poisonous serpents roll.

Remains there ought untried that may remove
Sickness of mind, and heal the bosom? - Love!
Love yet remains; indulge his genial fire,
Cherish fair Hope, solicit young Desire,
And boldly bid thy anxious soul explore
This last great remedy's mysterious power.

Why, therefore, hesitates my doubtful breast?
Why ceases it one moment to be bless'd?
Fly swift, my Friends; my Servants fly; employ
Your instant pains to bring our master joy.
Let all my wives and concubines be dress'd;
Let them to-night attend the royal feast;
All Israel's beauty, all the foreign fair,
The gifts of princes, or the spoils of war:
Before their monarch they shall singly pass,
And the most worthy shall obtain the grace.

I said: the feast was served; the bowl was crown'd;
To the King's pleasure went the mirthful round.
The women came: as custom wills they pass'd:
On one (O that distinguish'd one!) I cast
The favourite glance? O! yet my mind retains
That fond beginning of my infant pains.
Mature the virgin was, of Egypt's race,
Grace shaped her limbs and beauty deck'd her face:
Easy her motion seem'd, serene her air;
Full, though unzoned, her bosom rose; her hair
Untied, and, ignorant of artful aid,
Adown her shoulders loosely lay display'd,
And in the jetty curls ten thousand cupids play'd.

Fix'd on her charms, and pleased that I could love,
Aid me, my Friends, contribute to improve
Your monarch's bliss, I said: fresh roses bring
To strew my bed, till the impoverish'd Spring
Confess her want: around my amorous head
Be dropping myrrh and liquid amber shed
Till Arab has no more; from the soft lyre,
Sweet flute, and ten-string'd instrument require
Sounds of delight: and thou, fair Nymph, draw nigh,
Thou in whose graceful form and potent eye,
Thy master's joy, long sought, at length is found,
And, as thy brow, let my desires be crown'd.
O favourite virgin, that hast warm'd the breast,
Whose sovereign dictates subjugate the East!

I said: and sudden from the golden throne,
With a submissive step, I hasted down.
The glowing garland from my hair I took,
Love in my heart, obedience in my look,
Prepared to place it on her comely head,
O favourite Virgin! (yet again I said)
Receive the honours destined to thy brow;
And O, above thy fellows, happy thou!
Their duty must thy sovereign word obey.
Rise up, my love, my fair one, come away.

What pang, alas! what ecstasy of smart
Tore up my senses and transfix'd my heart,
When she with modest scorn the wreath return'd,
Reclined her beauteous neck, and inward mourn'd!

Forced by my pride, I my concern suppress'd,
Pretended drowsiness and wish of rest;
And sullen, I forsook th' imperfect feast:
Ordering the eunuchs, to whose proper care
Our Eastern gradneur gives th' imprison'd fair,
To lead her forth to a distinuish'd bower,
And nid her dress the bed, and wait the hour.

Restless I follow'd this obdurate maid,
(Swift are the steps that Love and Anger tread)
Approach'd her person, courted her embrace,
Renew'd my flame, repeated my disgrace:
By turns put on the suppliant and the lord:
Threaten'd this moment, and the next implored,
Offer'd again the unaccepted wreath,
And choice of happy love, or instant death.

Averse to all her amorous King desired,
Far as she might she decently retired,
And darting scorn and sorrow from her eyes,
What means, said she, King Solomon the wise?

This wretched body trembles at your power;
Thus far could Fortune, but she can no more.
Free to herself my potent mind remains,
Nor fears the victor's rage, nor feels his chains.

'Tis said that thou canst plausibly dispute,
Supreme of seers, of angel, man, and brute:
Canst plead, with subtle wit and fair discourse,
Of passion's folly and of reason's force;
That to the tribes attentive, thou canst know
Whence their misfortunes or their blessings flow:
That thou in science as in power art great,
And truth and honour on thy edicts wait.
Where is that knowledge now, that regal thought,
With just advice and timely counsel fraught?
Where now, O Judge of Israel, does it rove? -
What in one moment dost thou offer? - Love!
Love? why, 'tis joy or sorrow, peace or strife;
'Tis all the colour of remaining life,
And human misery must begin or end
As he becomes a tyrant or a friend.
Would David's son, religious, just, and grave,
To the first bride-bed of the world receive
A foreigner, a Heathen, and a slave?
Or grant thy passion has these names destroy'd,
That Love, like Death, makes all distinction void,
Yet in his empire o'er thy abject breast
His flames and torments only are exprest,
His rage can in my smiles alone relent,
And all his joys solicit my consent.

Soft love, spontaneous tree, its parted root
Must from two hearts with equal vigour shoot,
Whilst each delighted, and delighting, gives
The pleasing ecstasy which each receives:
Cherish'd with hope, and fed with joy, it grows,
Its cheerful buds their opening bloom disclose,
And round the happy soul diffusive odour flows.
If angry fate that mutual care denies,
The fading plant bewails its due supplies;
Wild with despair, or sick with grief, it dies.

By force beasts act, and are by force restrain'd;
The human mind by gentle means is gain'd.
Thy useless strength mistaken King employ:
Sated with rage, and ignorant of joy,
Thou shalt not gain what I deny to yield,
Nor reap the harvest, though thou spoil'st the field.
Know, Solomon, thy poor extent of sway;
Contract thy brow, and Israel shall obey;
But wilful Love thou must with smiles appease,
Approach his awful throne by just degrees,
And if thou wouldst be happy, learn to please.

Not that those arts can here successful prove,
For I am destined to another's love.
Beyond the cruel bounds of thy command,
To my dear equal, in my native land,
My plighted vow I gave; I his received:
Each swore with truth, with pleasure each believed
The mutual contract was to heaven convey'd;
In equal scales thy busy angels weigh'd
Its solemn force, and clapp'd their wings, and spread
The lasting roll, recording what we said.

Now in my heart behold thy poniard stain'd;
Take the sad life which I have long disdain'd;
End, in a dying virgin's wretched fate,
Thy ill-starr'd passion and my steadfast hate:
For long as blood informs these circling veins,
Or fleeting breath its latest power retains,
Hear me to Egypt's vengeful gods declare
Hate is my part; be thine O King despair.

Now strike, she said, and open'd bare her breast,
Stand it in Judah's Chronicles confest
That David's son, by impious passion moved,
Smote a she-slave, and murder'd what he loved.

Ashamed, confused, I started from the bed,
And to my soul, yet uncollected, said,
Into thyself fond Solomon return;
Reflect again, and thou again shalt mourn.
When I through number'd years have pleasure sought,
And in vain hope the wanton phantom caught,
To mock my sense and mortify my pride,
'Tis in another's power and is denied.
Am I a king, great Heaven? does life or death
Hang on the wrath or mercy of my breath,
While kneeling I my servant's smiles implore,
And one mad damsel dares dispute my power?

To ravish her? that thought was soon depress'd,
Which must debase the monarch to the beast.
To send her back? O whither, and to whom?
To lands where Solomon must never come?
To that insulting rival's happy arms
For whom, disdaining me, she keeps her charms?

Fantastic tyrant of the amorous heart,
How hard thy yoke! how cruel is thy dart?
Those 'scape thy anger who refuse thy sway,
And those are punish'd most who most obey,
See Judah's king revere thy greater power;
What canst thou covet, or how triumph more;
Why, then, O Love, with an obdurate ear,
Does this proud nymph reject a monarch's prayer?
Why to some simple shepherd does she run
Where wealth and pleasure may thy reign support,
To some poor cottage on the mountain's brow,
Now bleak with winds, and cover'd now with snow,
And household cares suppress thy genial fires!

Too aptly the afflicted Heathens prove
The force, while they erect the shrines of Love.
His mystic form the artisans of Greece
In wounded stone or molten gold express;
And Cyprus to his godhead pays her vow,
Fast in his hand the idol holds his bow;
A quiver by his side sustains his store
Of pointed darts, sad emblems of his power;
A pair of wings he has, which he extends
Now to be gone, which now again he bends,
Prone to return, as best may serve his wanton ends.
Entirely thus I find the fiend portray'd,
Since first, alas! I saw the beauteous maid;
I felt him strike, and now I see him fly:
Cursed daemon! O! for ever broken lie
Those fatal shafts by which I inward bleed!
O! can my wishes yet o'ertake thy speed!
Tired mayst thou turn'st thy course, resolved to bring
Except thou turn'st thy course, resolved to bring
The damsel back, and save the love-sick king.

My soul thus struggling in the fatal net,
Unable to enjoy or to forget,
I reason'd much, alas! but more I loved,
Sent and recall'd, ordain'd and disapproved,
Till hopeless plunged in an abyss of grief,
I from necessity received relief;
Time gently aided to assuage my pain
And wisdom took once more the slacken'd rein.

But O how short my interval of wo!
Our griefs how swift, our remedies how slow!
Another nymph, (for so did Heaven ordain,
To change the manner but renew the pain)
Another nymph, amongst the many fair
That made my softer hours their solemn care,
Before the rest affected still to stand,
And watch'd my eye, preventing my command,
Abra, she so was call'd, did sooner haste
To grace my presence; Abra went the last;
Abra was ready ere I call'd her name,
And though I call'd another, Abra came.

Her equals first observed her growing zeal,
And laughing gloss'd, that Abra served so well.
To me her actions did unheeded die,
Or were remark'd but with a common eye,
Till more apprized of what the rumour said,
More I observed peculiar in the maid.

The sun declined had shot his western ray,
When, tired with business of the solemn day,
I purposed to unbend the evening hours,
And banquet private in the women's bowers.
I call'd before I sat to wash my hands,
for so the precept of the law commands;
Love had ordain'd that it was Abra's turn
To mix the sweets, and minister the urn.

With awful homage and submissive dread
The maid approach'd, on my declining head
To pour the oils: she trembled as she pour'd:
With an unguarded look she now devour'd
My nearer face; and now recall'd her eye,
And heaved, and strove to hide a sudden sigh.
And whence, said I, canst thou have dread or pain?
What can thy imag'ry of sorrow mean?
Secluded from the world and all its care,
Hast thou to grieve or joy, to hope or fear?
For sure, I added, sure thy little heart
Ne'er felt Love's anger or received his dart.

Abash'd she blush'd, and with disorder spoke;
Her rising shame adorn'd the words it broke.

If the great master will descend to hear
The humble series of his handmaid's care,
O! while she tells it, let him not put on
The look that awes the nations from the throne;
O! let not death severe in glory lie
In the king's frown and terror of his eye.

Mine to obey, thy part is to ordain:
And though to mention be to suffer pain,
If the king smiles whilst I my wo recite
If weeping I find favour in his sight,
Flow fast my tears, full rising his delight.

O! witness earth beneath and heaven above,
For can I hide it? I am sick of love!
If madness may the name of passion bear,
Or love be call'd what is indeed despair.

Thou sovereign Power, whose secret will controls
The inward bent and motion of our souls!
Why hast thou placed such infinite degrees
Between the cause and cure of my disease?
The mighty object of that raging fire
In which unpitied Abra must expire,
Had he born some simple shepherd's heir,
The lowing herd or fleecy sheep his care,
At morn with him I o'er the hills had run,
Scornful of winter's frost and summer's run,
Still asking here he made his flock to rest at noon.
For him at night, the dear expected guest,
Had with hasty joy prepared the feast,
And from the cottage, o'er the distant plain,
Sent forth my longing eye to meet the swain,
Wavering, impatient, toss'd by hope and fear,
Till he and joy together should appear,
And the loved dog declare his master near.
On my declining neck and open breast
I should have lull'd the lovely youth to rest,
And from beneath is head at dawning day,
With softest care, have stolen my arm away,
To rise, and from the fold release the sheep,
Fond of his flock, indulgent to his sleep.

Or if kind Heaven, propitious to my flame,
(For sure from Heaven the faithful ardour came)
Had blest my life, and deck'd my natal hour
With height of title and extent of power,
Without a crime my passion had aspired,
Found the loved prince, and told what I desired
Then I had come, preventing Sheba's queen,
To see the comeliest of the sons of men:
To hear the charming poet's amorous song,
And gather honey falling from his tongue;
To take the fragrant kisses of his mouth,
Sweeter than breezes of her native south,
Likening his grace, his person, and his mien,
To all that great or beauteous I had seen.
Serene and bright his eyes, as solar beams,
Reflecting temper'd light from crystal streams;
Ruddy as gold his cheek; his bosom fair
As silve;r the curled ringlets of his hair
Black as the raven's wing; his lips more red
Than eastern coral or the scarlet thread;
Even his teeth, and white like a young flock,
Coeval, newly shorn, from the clear brook
Recent, and blanching on the sunny rock.
Ivory with sapphires interspersed, explains
How white his hands, how blue the manly veins;
Columns of polish'd marble, firmly set
On golden bases, are his legs and feet:
His stature all majestic, all divine,
Strait as the palm tree, strong as is the pine;
Saffron and myrrh are on his garments shed,
And everlasting sweets bloom round his head,
What utter I! where am I! wretched maid!
Die, Abra, die; too plainly thou hast said
Thy soul's desire to meet his high embrace,
And blessing stamp'd upon thy future race;
To bid attentive nations bless thy womb,
With unborn monarchs charged, and Solomon to come.

Here o'er her speech her flowing eyes prevail.
O foulish maid! and O unhappy tale!
My suffering heart for ever shall defy
New wounds and danger from a future eye.
O! yet my tortured senses deep retain
The wretched memory of my former pain,
The dire affront, and my Egyptian chain.

As time, I said, may happily efface
That cruel image of the King's disgrace,
Imperial Reason shall resume her seat,
And Solomon, once fall'n again be great.
Betray'd by passion, as subdued in war,
We wisely should exert a double care,
Nor ever ought a second time to err.

This Abra then -------
I saw her; 'twas humanity; it gave
Some respite to the sorrows of my slave.
Her fond excess proclaim'd her passion true,
And generous pity to that truth was due.
Well I entreated her who well deserved;
I call'd her often, for she always served:
Use made her person easy to my sight,
And ease insensibly produced delight.

Whene'er I revell'd in the women's bowers
(For first I sought her but at looser hours)
The apples she had gather'd smelt most sweet,
The cake she kneaded was the savoury meat;
But fruits their odour lost, and meats their taste,
If gentle Abra had not deck'd the feast:
Dishonour'd did the sparkling goblet stand,
Unless received from gentle Abra's hand;
And when the virgins form'd the evening choir,
Raising their voices to the master-lyre,
Too that I thought this voice, and that too shrill;
One show'd too much, and one too little skill;
Nor could my soul approve the music's tone,
Till all was hush'd, and Abra sung alone.
Fairer she seem'd distinguish'd from the rest,
And better mien disclosed, as better drest:
A bright tiara round her forehead tied,
To juster bounds confined its rising pride:
The blushing ruby on her snowy breast
Render'd its panting whiteness more confest;
Bracelets of pearl gave roundness to her arm,
And every gem augmented every charm:
Her senses pleased, her beauty still improved,
And she more lovely grew as more beloved.

And now I could behold, avow, and blame,
The several follies of my former flame,
Willing my heart for recompence to prove
The certain joys that lie in prosperous love.
For what, said I, from Abra can I fear,
Too humble to insult, too soft to be severe?
The damsel's sole ambition is to please;
With freedom I may like, and quit with ease;
She soothes, but never can enthral my mind:
Why may not peace and love for once be join'd?

Great Heaven! how frail thy creature man is made!
How by himself insensibly betray'd!
In our own strength unhappily secure,
Too little cautious of the adverse power,
And by the blast of self-opinion moved,
We wish to charm, and seek to be beloved.
On pleasure's flowing brink we idly stray,
Masters as yet of our returning way;
Seeing no danger we disarm our mind,
And give our conduct to the waves and wind;
Then in the flowery mead or verdant shade
To wanton dalliance negligently laid,
We weave the chaplet and we crown the bowl,
And smiling see the nearer waters roll,
Till the strong gusts of raging passion rise,
Till the dire tempest mingles earth and skies,
And swift into the boundless ocean borne,
Our foolish confidence too late we mourn;
Round our devoted heads the billows beat,
And from our troubled view the lessen'd lands retreat.

O mighty Love! from thy unbounded power
How shall the human bosom rest secure?
How shall our thought avoid the various snare,
Or wisdom to our caution'd soul declare
The different shapes thou pleasest to employ
When bent to hurt, and certain to destroy;

The haughty nymph, in open beauty drest,
To-day encounters our unguarded breast;
She looks with majesty, and moves with state:
Unbent her soul, and in misfortune great,
She scorns the world, and dares the rage of Fate.

Here whilst we take stern manhood for our guide,
And guard our conduct with becoming pride,
Charm'd with the courage in her action shown,
We praise her mind, the image of our own,
She that can please is certain to persuade;
To-day beloved, to-morrow is obey'd.
We think we see through Reason's optics right,
Nor find how Beauty's rays elude our sight:
Struck with her eye whilst we applaud her mind,
And when we speak her great we wish her kind.

To-morrow, cruel Power! thou arm'st the fair
With flowing sorrow and dishevell'd hair.
Sad her complaint, and humble is her tale,
Her sighs explaining where her accents fail;
Here generous softness warms the honest breast;
We raise the sad, and succour the distrest,
And whilst our wish prepares the kind relief,
Whilst pity mitigates her rising grief,
We sicken soon from her contagious care,
Grieve for her sorrows, groan for her despair,
And against love, too late, those bosoms arm,
Which tears can soften, and which sighs can warm.

Against this nearest, cruelest of foes,
What shall wit meditate, or force oppose?
Whence, feeble Nature, shall we summon aid,
If by our pity and our pride betray'd?
External remedy shall we hope to find,
When the close fiend has gain'd our treacherous mind,
Insulting there does Reason's power deride,
And, blind himself, conducts the dazzled guide?

My conqueror now, my lovely Abra, held
My freedom in her chains; my heart was fill'd
With her, with her alone, in her alone
It sought its peace and joy: while she was gone
It sigh'd, and grieved, impatient of her stay:
Return'd she chased those sighs, that grief, away;
Her absence made the night, her presence brought the day.

The ball, the play, the mask, by turns succeed:
For her I make the song; the dance with her I lead:
I court her, various, in each shape and dress
That luxury may form or thought express.

To-day beneath the palm-tree, on the plains,
In Deborah's arms and habit Abra reigns:
The wreath, denoting conquest, guides her brow,
And low, like Barak, at her feet I bow.
The mimic Chorus sings her prosperous hand,
As she had slain the foe and saved the land.

To-morrow she approves a softer air,
Forsakes the pomp and pageantry of war,
The form peaceful Abigail assumes,
And from the village with the present comes:
The youthful band depose their glittering arms,
Receive her bounties and recite her charms,
Whilst I assume my father's step and mien,
To meet with due regard my future queen.

If hap'ly Abra's will be now inclined
To range the woods or chase the flying hind,
Soon as the sun awakes, the sprightly court
Leave their repose, and hasten to the sport.
In lessen'd royalty, and humble state,
Thy king, Jerusalem! descends to wait
Till Abra comes. She comes; a milk-white steed
Mixture of Persia's and Arabia's breed,
Sustains the nymph: her garments flying loose,
(As the Sidonian maids or Thracian use)
And half her knee and half her breast appear
By art, like negligence disclosed and nare.
Her left hand guides the hunting courser's flight,
A silver bow she carries in her right,
And from the golden quiver at her side
Rustles the ebon arrow's feather'd pride;
Sapphires and diamonds on her front display
An artificial moon's increasing ray.
Diana, huntress, mistress of the groves,
The favourite Abra speaks, and looks, and moves.
Her as the present goddess, I obey,
Beneath her feet the captive game I lay;
The mingled Chorus sing Diana's fame,
Clarions and horns in louder peals proclaim
Her mystic praise, the vocal triumphs bound
Against the hills; the hills reflect the sound.

If tired this evening with the hunted woods,
To the large fish-pools or the glassy floods
Her mind to-morrow points a thousand hands
To-night employ'd obey the king's commands;
Upon the wat'ry beach an artful pile
Of planks is join'd, and forms a moving isle;
A golden chariot in the midst is set,
And silver cygnets seem to feel its weight.
Abra, bright queen, ascends her gaudy throne,
In semblance of the Grecian Venus knows;
Tritons and sea-green naiads round her move,
And sing in moving strains the force of love;
Whilst, as th' approaching pageant does appear,
And echoing crowds speak mighty Venus near,
I, her adorer, too devoutly stand
Fast on the utmost margin of the land,
With arms and hopes extended, to receive
The fancied goddess rising from the wave.

O subject Reason! O imperious Love!
Whither yet further would my folly rove?
Is it enough that Abra should be great
In the wall'd palace or the rural seat;
That masking habits and a borrow'd name
Contrive to hide my plenitude of shame?
No, no: Jerusalem combined must see
My open fault and regal infamy.
Solemn a month is destined for the feast;
Abra invites; the nation is the guest.
To have the honour of each day sustain'd
The woods are travers'd, and the lakes are drain'd:
Arabia's wilds and Egypt's are explored;
The edible creation decks the board:
Hardly the phenix 'scapes ---------
The men their lyres, the maids their voices raise,
To sing my happiness and Abra's praise,
And slavish bards our mutual loves rehearse
In lying strains and ignominious verse;
While from the banquet leading forth the bride,
Whom prudent love from public eyes should hide,
I show her to the world, confess'd and known
Queen of my heart, and partner of my throne.

And now her friends and flatterers fill the court;
From Dan and from Beersheba they resort;
They barter places and dispose of grants,
Whole provinces unequal to their wants;
They teach her to recede or to debate;
With toys of love to mix affairs of state;
By practised rules her empire to secure,
And in my pleasure make my ruin sure.
They gave and she transferr'd the cursed advice,
That monarchs should their inward soul disguise,
Dissemble and command, be false and wise;
By ignominious arts, for servile ends,
Should compliment their foes and shun their friends.
And now I leave the true and just supports
Of legal princes and of honest courts,
Barzillai's and the fierce Benaiah's heirs,
Whose sires, great partners in my father's cares,
Saluted their young king, at Hebron crown'd,
Great by their toil, and glorious by their wound:
And now unhappy counsel, I prefer
Those whom my follies only made me fear,
Old Corah's brood and taunting Shimei's race,
Miscreants who owed their lives to David's grace,
Though they had spurn'd his rule and cursed him to his face.

Still Abra's power, my scandal, still increased;
Justice submitted to what Abra pleased:
Her will alone could settle or revoke,
And law was fixt by what she latest spoke.

Israel neglected, Abra was my care;
I only acted, thought, and lived for her,
I durst not reason with my wounded heart;
Abra possess'd; she was its better part.
O! had I now review'd the famous cause
Which gave my righteous youth so just applause,
In vain on the dissembled mother's tongue
Had cunning art and sly persuasion hung,
And real care in vain, and native love,
And real care in vain, and native love,
In the true parent's panting breast had strove,
While both deceived had seen the destined child
Or slain, or saved, as Abra frown'd or smiled.

Uknowing to command, proud to obey,
A lifeless king, a royal shade I lay.
Unheard the injured orphans now complain;
The widow's cries address the throne in vain.
Causes unjudged disgrace the loaded file,
And sleeping laws the king's neglect revile.
No more the Elders throng'd around my throne
To hear my maxims, and reform their own;
No more the young nobility were taught
How Moses govern'd and how David fought.
Loose and undisciplined the soldier lay,
Or lost in drink and game the solid day;
Porches and schools, design'd for public good,
Uncover'd, and with scaffolds cumber'd stood,
Or nodded, threatening ruin --
Half pillars wanted their expected height,
And roofs imperfect prejudiced the sight.
The artists grieve; the labouring people droop;
My father's legacy, my country's hope,
God's temples, lie unfinish'd -

The wise and grave deplored their monarch's fate,
And future mischiefs of a sinking state.
In this the serious said, is this the man,
Whose active soul through every science ran?
Who by just rule and elevated skill
Prescribed the dubious bounds of good and ill?
Whose golden sayings and immortal wit
On large phylacteries expressive writ,
Were to the forehead of the Rabbins tied,
Our youth's instruction and our age's pride?
Could not the wise his wild desires restrain?
Then was our hearing and his preaching vain!
What from his life and letters were we taught
But that his knowledge aggravates his fault?

In lighter mood, the humorous and the gay
(As crown'd with roses at their feasts they lay)
Sent the full goblet charged with Abra's name,
And charms superior to the master's fame.
Laughing, some praise the king, who let them see
How aptly luxe and empire might agree:
Some gloss'd how love and wisdom were at strife,
And brought my proverbs to confront my life.
However, friend, here's to the king, one cries
To him who was the king, the friend replies.
The king, for Judah's and for wisdom's curse
To Abra yields; could I or thou do worse?
Our looser lives let Chance or Folly steer,
If thus the prudent and determined err.
Let Dinah bind with flowers her flowing hair,
And touch the lute and sound the wanton air,
Let us the bliss without the sting receive,
Free as we will or to enjoy or leave.
Pleasures on levity's smooth surface flow;
Thought brings the weight that sinks the soul to wo.
Now be this maxim to the king convey'd,
And added to the thousand he has made.

Sadly, O Reason, is thy power express'd,
Thou gloomy tyrant of the frighted beast!
And harsh the rules which we fom thee receive,
If for our wisdom we our pleasure give,
And more to think be only more to grieve:
If Judah's king, at thy tribunal tried,
Forsakes his joy to vindicate his pride,
And, changing sorrows, I am only found
Loosed from the chains of love, in thine more strictly bound.

But do I call thee tyrant, or complain
How hard thy laws, how absolute thy reign?
While thou, alas! art but an empty name,
To no two men who e'er discoursed the same;
The idle product of a troubled thought,
In borrow'd shapes and airy colours wrought,
A fancied line, and a reflected shade;
A chain which man to fetter man has made,
By artifice imposed, by fear obey'd.

Yet, wretched name, or arbitrary thing,
Whence-ever I thy cruel essence bring,
I own thy influence, for I feel thy sting.
Reluctant I perceive thee in my soul,
Form'd to command, and destind to control,
Yes, thy insulting dictates shall be heard;
Virtue for once shall be her own reward:
Yes, rebel Israel, this unhappy maid
Shall be dismiss'd; the crowd shall be obey'd:
The king his passion and his rule shall leave,
No longer Abra's but the people's slave:
My coward soul shall bear its wayward fate;
I will, alas! be wretched to be great,
And sigh in royalty, and grieve in state.

I said, resolved to plunge into my grief
At once, so far as to expect relief
From my despair alone --
To her I loved, toher I must forsake.
How inconsistent majesty and love.
I always should, it said, esteem her well,
But never see her more: it bid her feel
No future pain for me; but instant wed
A lover more proportion'd to her bed,
And quiet dedicate her remnant life
To the just duties of an humble wife.

She read, and forth to me she wildly ran,
To me, the ease of all her former pain.
She kneel'd, entreated, struggled, threaten'd, cried,
And with alternate passion lived and died;
Till now denied the liberty to mourn,
And by rude fury from my presence torn,
This only object of my real care
Cut off from hope, abandon'd to despair,
In some few posting fatal hours is hurl'd
From wealth, from power, from love, and from the world.

Here tell me, if thou darest, my conscious soul,
What different sorrows did within thee roll?
What pangs, what fires, what racks, did thou sustain?
What sad vicissitudes of smarting pain?
How oft from pomp and state did I remove,
To feed despair, and cherish hopeless love?
How oft all day recall'd I Abra's charms,
Her beauties press'd, and panting in my arms?
How oft with sighs view'd every female face
Where mimic Fancy might her likeness trace?
How oft desired to fly from Isreal's throne,
And live in shades with her and love alone?
How oft all night pursued her in my dreams,
O'er flowery valleys and through crystal streams,
And waking, view'd with grief the rising sun,
And fondly mourn'd the dear delusion gone?

When thus the gather'd storms of wretched love
In my swollen bosom with long war had strove,
At length they broke their bounds; at length their force
Bore down whatever met its stronger course;
Laid all the civil bonds of manhood waste,
And scatter'd ruin as the torrent pass'd.
So from the hills, whose hollow caves contain
The congregated snow and swelling rain,
Till the full stores their ancient bounds disdain,
Precipitate the furious torrent flows:
In vain would speed avoid or strength oppose:
Towns, forests, herds, and men, promiscuous drown'd,
With one great death deform the dreary ground;
The echoed woes from distant rocks resound.
And now what impious ways, my wishes took,
How they the monarch and the man forsook,
And how I follow'd an abandon'd will
Through crooked paths and sad retreats of ill;
By turns my prostituted bed receives,
Through tribes of women how I loosely ranged
Impatient, liked to-night, to-morrow changed,
And by the instinct of capricious lust
Enjoy'd, disdain'd, was grateful or unjust;
O, be these scenes from human eyes conceal'd,
In clouds of decent silence justly veil'd!
O, be the wanton images convey'd
To black oblivion and eternal shade!
Or let their sad epitome alone
And outward lines to future ages be known,
Enough to propagate the sure belief
That vice engenders shame, and folly broods o'er grief.

Buried in sloth and lost in ease I lay;
The night I revell'd, and I slept the day.
New heaps of fuel damp'd my kindling fires,
And daily change extinguish'd young desires,
By its own force destroy'd, fruition ceased;
And always wearied, I was never pleased.
No longer now does my neglected mind
Its wonted stores and old ideas find.
Fix'd judgement there no longer does abide
To take the true or set the false aside,
No longer does swift Memory trace the cells
Where springing Wit or young Invention dwells,
Frequent debauch to habitude prevails;
Patience of toil and love of virtue fails.
By sad degrees impair'd my vigour dies,
Till I command no longer e'en in vice.
The women on my dotage build their sway:
In regal garments now I gravely stride,
Awed by the Persian damsels' haughty pride;
Now with the looser Syrian dance and sing,
In robes tuck'd up, opprobrious to the king.

Charm'd by their eyes, their manners I acquire,
And shape my foolishness to their desire;
Seduced and awed by the Philistine dame,
At Dagon's shrine I kindle impious flame.
With the Chaldean's charms her rites prevail,
And curling frankincense ascends to Baal.
To each new harlot I new altars dress,
And serve her god whose person I caress.

Where, my deluded sense, was reason flown?
Where the high majesty of David's throne?
Where all the maxims of eternal truth,
With which the living God inform'd my youth,
When with the lewd Egyptian I adore
Vain idols, deities that ne'er before
In Isreal's land had fix'd their dire abodes,
Beastly divinities, and droves of gods;
Osiris, Apis, powers that chew the cud,
And dog Anubis, flatterer for his food?
When in the woody hill's forbidden shade
I carved the marble and invoked its aid:
When in the fens to snake and flies, with zeal
Unworthy human thought, I prostrate fell;
To shrubs and plants my vile devotion paid,
And set the bearded leek to which I pray'd;
When to all beings sacred rites were given,
forgot the Arbiter of earth and heaven?

Through these sad shades, this chaos in my soul,
Some seeds of light at length began to roll:
The rising motion of an infant ray
Shot glimmering through the cloud, and promised day.
And now one moment able to reflect,
I found the king abandon'd to neglect,
Seen without awe, and served without respect.
I found my subjects amicably join
To lessen their defects by citing mine.
The priest with pity prays for David's race,
And left his text to dwell on my disgrace.
The father, whilst he warn'd his erring son,
The sad examples which he ought to shun,
Described, and only named not, Solomon.
Each bard, each sire, did to his pupil sing,
A wise child better than a foolish king.

Into myself my reason's eye I turn'd,
And as I much reflected much I mourn'd.
A mighty king I am, an earthly god;
Nations obey my word and wait my nod:
I raise or sink, imprison or set free,
And life or death, depends on my decree.
Fond of the idea, and the thought is vain;
O'er Judah's king ten thousand tyrants reign,
Legions of lust and various powers of ill
Insult the master's tributary will;
And he from whom the nations should receive
Justice and freedom, lies himself a slave,
Tortured by cruel change of wild desires,
Lash'd by mad rage, and scorch'd by brutal fires.

O Reason! once again to thee I call;
Accept my sorrow and retrieve my fall.
Wisdom, thou say'st, from heaven received her birth,
Her beams transmitted to the subject earth:
Yet thi great empress of the human soul
Does only with the imagined power control,
If restless passion, by rebellious sway,
Compels the weak usurper to obey.

O troubled, weak, and coward, as thou art,
Without thy poor advice the labouring heart
To worse extremes with swifter steps would run,
Not saved by virtue, yet vice undone.

Oft have I said, the praise of doing well
Is to the ear as ointment to the smell.
Now if some flies perchance, however small,
Into the alabaster urn should fall,
The odours of the sweets enclosed would die,
And stench corrupt (sad change) their place supply:
So the least faults, if mixed with fairest deed,
Of future ill become the fatal seed;
Into the balm of purest virtue cast,
Annoy all life with one contagious blast.

Lost Solomon! pursue this thought no more;
Of thy past errors recollect the store;
And silent weep, that while the deathless Muse
Shall sing the just, shall o'er their head diffuse
Perfumes with lavish hand, she shall proclaim
Thy crimes alone, and to thy evil fame
Impartial, scatter damps and poisons on thy name.
Awaking therefore, as who long had dream'd,
Much of my women and their gods ashamed,
From this abyss of exemplary vice
Resolved, as time might aid my thought, to rise,
Again I bid the mournful goddess write
Of human hope by cross event destroy'd,
Of useless wealth and greatness enjoy'd;
Of lust and love, with their fantastic train,
Their wishes, smiles, and looks, deceitful all and vain.

poem by Matthew Prior
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Most well-known serial killers have victims numbering in the dozens, have sent taunting letters to the police or have done bizarre things to the bodies.

quote by Pat Brown
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When The World Vanishes

When this world vanishes
When it goes with its own things
When the sun glows dim then
The moon shall head adark shape
The earth shall warn out like acloth
He says on the mount Zion

When the living things cry foul
When the most high shall say no more
When the heavens shall close its walls
Our ways shall never be his
His ways are always higher as heaven
For he is the king of glory

If today we remember the cross
And take charge of his will
Demonds shall never sneak closer
Even diseases shall regret to lock
And he shall say well is with you
When the world vanishes

poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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Sonnet - The World Today(16)

The Tornado destroys things in its wake;
The Storm at sea has capsized Boats and ships;
The heavy rain has flooded vale and lake;
With Winter, mercury sub-zero dips.

The scorching Sun has parched all fields and lands;
The forest-fires have left just stubs of trees;
Most nations have gone into corrupt hands;
The world's people breathe polluted sea-breeze.

And evil-minds have plundered their own soil;
World's terrorists are bent on revenge first;
Samaritans good, help their attempts foil,
And forces good unite avoiding worst.
New diseases plague human beings, yet,
But Maker stays becalmed, His eyes well-set.

poem by John Celes
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Doth Then The World Go Thus?

Doth then the world go thus? doth all thus move?
Is this the justice which on earth we find?
Is this that firm decree which all doth bind?
Are these your influences, Powers above?
Those souls, which vice's moody mists most blind,
Blind Fortune, blindly, most their friend doth prove;
And they who thee, poor idol Virtue! love,
Ply like a feather tossed by storm and wind.
Ah! if a Providence doth sway this all,
Why should best minds groan under most distress?
Or why should pride humility make thrall,
And injuries the innocent oppress?
Heavens! hinder, stop this fate; or grant a time
When good may have, as well as bad, their prime!

poem by William Henry Drummond
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Sonnet: The World I See Today

The few good people I’d known appear changed;
The evil-doers seem to have increased;
The few sane people I’d known look deranged;
Most healthy ones are totally diseased!

The world I saw in childhood was so good;
The world I see today is pretty bad;
Polluted are the air, water and food;
To leave this treacherous world, I would be glad!

This earth was good when God made it at first;
Man’s selfishness has wrought ruin on it;
Man’s sinfulness has turned him one accursed;
So many souls are heading for the ‘Pit’.

But God had planned the redemption of man,
Through Jesus Christ, within our earthly span!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 12-17-2006

poem by John Celes
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The Most Expensive Girl In The World

Jimmy was a fly guy with a big mercedes
He thought he could get all type of ladies
He makes a lot of money cause he is a money maker
And if he looks for style he rides jet ski in jamaica
He met this beautiful girl at a bar
And jimmy could swear she looked like a star
He got the the most expensive girl in the world
The most expensive girl
But jimmy didnt listen - yes he didnt
His friends warned him - he thought they must be kiddin
Jimmy felt in love like he never did before
For any kiss he gets she takes him to the store
Every time she buys more than jimmy can carry
So she employed a butler and his name is: larry
He got the the most expensive girl in the world
The most expensive girl
Jimmy is out of money he spent all on his honey
He is searchin for a credit but his friends regret it
He is workin at three jobs but that is not enough
To pay all her needs to pay all her stuff
I saw her later on a luxury ferry
And next to her stood a man named: larry
You got played, boy !
He got the the most expensive girl in the world
The most expensive girl

song performed by Lou Bega
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All Around The World Or The Myth Of Fingerprints

Over the mountain
Down in the valley
Lives a former talk-show host
Everybody knows his name
He says theres no doubt about it
It was the myth of fingerprints
Ive seen them all and man
Theyre all the same
Well, the sun gets weary
And the sun goes down
Ever since the watermelon
And the lights come up
On the black pit town
Somebody says whats a better thing to do
Well, its not just me
And its not just you
This is all around the world
Out in the indian ocean somewhere
Theres a former army post
Abandoned now just like the war
And theres no doubt about it
It was the myth of fingerprints
Thats what that old army post was for
Well, the sun gets bloody
And the sun goes down
Ever since the watermelon
And the lights come up
On the black pit town
Somebody says whats a better thing to do
Well, its not just me
And its not just you
This is all around the world
Over the mountain
Down in the valley
Lives the former talk-show host
Far and wide his name was known
He said theres no doubt about it
It was the myth of fingerprints
Thats why we must learn to live alone

song performed by Paul Simon
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The Strangest Creature Of The World

you look lıke a scorpion my friend
you live cowardly ın darkness like a scorpion
you look like a sparrow my friend
you are in the haste of a sparrow
you look like a mussel my friend
like a mussel closed and comfortable
and you are terrible my friend
like the muzzel of a volcano
your number not one
you are not five
but unfortunately there are millions of you
on the world
you look like lamb my friend
when well clad cattle dealer with cloak
raises his baton
you immediately join the herd
and proudly
you run to the slaughter house quickly
that to say word by word
you are the strangest creature of the world
you are stranger than the fish living in the sea
but do not know anything about the sea
and in this world
the tyranny overwhelms the world for the sake of you
and if we are hungry
weary and if the blood is shed sparıngly
and if we are pressed and pounded fiercely to yield our wines
ı do not want to say that
and though ı do not intend this
but it is a reality
most of the faults are yours
behold it
and learn this learn
my dear brethren
Nazım HİKMET
translation Metin ŞAHİN

poem by Metin Sahin
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Deepest Love The World Has Known

i've searched the fields the world over
searching for that four leaf clover.
thinking that this could fill my life
of the voids within my heart.
but the biggest void was from you
from the start.

a four leaf clover could never replace
when i fell from your grace.
i have learned from my sins.
and i'm hoping that i could get back in.

back into that beautiful heart
where i could make a brand new start
in your love i was like a fish in the sea
because your beauty 'totally surrounded me'.

in every direction that i swam.
i could always see, that your deep love
became a part of me.
my love has reached the bottom of the ocean floor
rose up and touched every shore.

i have swam the world over, and
never looking over my shoulder.
for my love is deeper and wider than the ocean itself.

it will reach heaven and it will touch hell
and if you were to see it, you could surely tell.

the deepest love the world has known
is the love, that i have shown.
not the height of the universe
or the depth of the ocean
could compare to my infinite love and devotion.

now! you ask me for who can this love be.

IT IS FOR CHRIST, FOR HE HAS SET ME FREE.

poem by Louis Rams
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Most boring man in the world

I’m always where… I’m sposed to be
Always doin’ what I’m sposed to be doin’

Never lookin’ where… I shouldn’t be lookin
Nor talking trash or rumor strewin’

No telling’ lies, except for the lil’ white ones
Pretty much walkin’ the proverbial straight line

Gave up smoking’, don’t do much drinkin’
Maybe a beer a week, occasional glass of wine

I take a nightly shower even if I don’t really need one
Never kick my dog, and only rarely kick the cat

Never badmouth the people around me
Though they’re getting’ godawful fat

I’m eating right, watchin’ my weight
Working out at the Y, constantly weighin’ myself

I’m always on time, hardly ever late
Reading’ box labels, then puttin’ them back on the shelf

Suckin’ in my gut and standing up straight
Brushin’ my teeth… poppin’ wintergreen mints

I’m always on time, never arrive late
My breath is so nice it makes the bank teller wince

I have most of the virtues of a fairly good man
My hair is lustrous, silver grey, slightly curled

I have all of those attributes, yet even I understand
I’m also the most boring… man in the world

poem by David Whalen
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On Top Of The World

Youre on top of the world
On top of the world and you cant
Get any higher-youre on top of the world
Youre on top of the world tonight
It wasnt easy- it was hard as hell
You didnt get luck in a wishin well
Never worked so hard- had so much pain
Wouldnt change for anything
Learned love from a movie screen
He was tough, she was wild at fifteen
Quit school and had no dreams
Wasnt going very far
Then he got religion and she got a god
Its on her back and its in his job
And it costs lots of money, honey- oh, no
Breakdown nearly every day
Shoulda known- couldnt get away
Got lucky with the girl next door
She was lonely and didnt care
She was young, she was dark, she was fair
Wrapped herself around you with her stare
Youd explode if she would touch you there
Touch you there- touch you there
Tonight, tonight-tonight-tonight
Youre on top of the world
On top of the world and you cant
Get any higher
Youre on top of the world
Youre on top of the world tonight
(can you hear me, can you see me) youre on top of the world tonight
(can you hear me, can you see me) youre on top of the world tonight
(can you hear me, can you see me) youre on top of the world tonight
(can you hear me, can you see me) youre on top of the world tonight

song performed by Cheap Trick
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The Most Beautiful Girl In The World

{from the beautiful experience (1994)}
Could u be the most beautiful girl in the world?
Its plain 2 see ure the reason that God made a girl
When the day turns into the last day of all time
I can say I hope u are in these arms of mine
And when the night falls before that day I will cry
I will cry tears of joy cuz after u all one can do is die, oh
Could u be the most beautiful girl in the world?
Could u be?
Its plain 2 see ure the reason that God made a girl
Oh, yes u are
How can I get through days when I cant get through hours?
I can try but when I do I see u and Im devoured, oh yes
Whod allow, whod allow a face 2 be soft as a flower? oh
I could bow (bow down) and feel proud in the light of this power
Oh yes, oh
Could u be (could u be) the most beautiful girl in the world?
Could u be?
Its plain 2 see ure the reason that God made a girl
Oh, yes u are
And if the stars ever fell one by one from the sky
I know mars could not be, uh, 2 far behind
Cuz baby, this kind of beauty has got no reason 2 ever be shy
Cuz honey, this kind of beauty is the kind that comes from inside
Could u be (could u be) the most beautiful girl in the world?
So beautiful, beautiful
Its plain 2 see (plain 2 see) ure the reason that God made a girl
Oh yeah! (oh, yes u are)
Girl (could u be? )
U must be ... oh yeah!
(could u be? )
Ure the reason ... oh yeah
(could) {x3}

song performed by Prince
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Christ: The Light Of The World

A nightly vision came to me, as in the dream I slept,
Pertaining to humanity and every tear once wept...
But God refused to let it lie, without a hope or prayer
And on the future, let me spy, my broken heart to spare.

I saw the Earth amid the stars... and sun and moon above,
It teemed with life, as if not sparce, yet here, more than enough.
And this new Earth was beaming light, just like the sun and moon,
It truly was a wondrous sight and to my eyes, a boon!

It simply took my breath away! I asked God to explain...
He said the vision won't delay, the Earth will smile again...
With humans by the billions now, awaiting Christ's return,
Beyond the times God must allow and lessons still to learn...

The Earth was filled with melodies, from both the young and old,
The creatures forming harmonies of greater worth than gold...
Men prayed, Lord, heal the planet, too, let planet Earth be blessed!
Yes, this was what my eyes could view, a new Earth at its best...

Then darkness melted in my mind, to steal the dream within,
As if my very soul was blind, by doubts and pain and sin.
When I awoke upon my bed, the blankets I unfurled
And at God's painting smiled instead: Christ: the Light of the World!

Denis Martindale, copyright, March 2012.

The poem is based on the famous painting of
Jesus Christ that's known across the world.
William Holman Hunt's picture can be found
on the Internet eg Google images search and
with cross references for St Paul's Cathedral.

We can hear the word of the Lord on
Revelation TV on UK Sky Digital 581
as well as the WATCH NOW link on
the revelationtv-dot-com website...

poem by Denis Martindale
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