Citatepedia^®.com

I'm belligerent rather than ambitious.

quote by Ian Hart
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Belligerence

Those who sat on the fence,
Yesterday.
Today,
Are belligerent.
And escape from being maced.
Or locked up,
In a cell in haste
.
But what takes place,
Could have been prevented.
But racism descended,
To keep divisions defended.

Those who sat on the fence,
Yesterday.
Today...
Are belligerent.
Because they've been hoodwinked again.
And they're belligerent.

Those who sat on the fence,
Yesterday.
Today...
Are,
Belligerent.
And dismissing what's been said,
Yet choosing to be...
Belligerent.

Yes they choose to stay,
And be this way...
Belligerent.
And dismissing what's been said,
Out of ignorance.

Those who sat on the fence,
Yesterday.
Today...
Are,
Belligerent.
And dismissing what's been said,
Yet choosing to be...
Belligerent.

Yes they choose to stay,
And be this way...
Belligerent.
And dismissing what's been said,
Out of ignorance.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Be ambitious

Be ambitious
But, cautiously
Keeping in view
The nature and extent
Of your strengths
And after weighing
Your weaknesses

Be ambitious of
Harnessing strengths of others
For raising a human race
For collective growth and
Harmonious co-existence
Not of developing a mass
For a mad and unquestioned following

Be ambitious
Of becoming something yourself
Not of becoming a owner
Of material significance

Be ambitious
Of evolving new values to life
Not of adding values
To things in your possession

Be ambitious
Of helping others
Realize new dimensions of existence
Not of helping them
Just to exist

Be ambitious
Of bringing more and more
Into your affectionate bond of love
Not of keeping others
Into your fold because of fear for you
Or favour from you

Be ambitious of
Knowing yourself better
Not of making others
Understand you better

Be ambitious of
Becoming a model human being
For others to emulate
Not of copying or emulating
Someone’s model

[...] Read more

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Headmaster Ritual

Belligerent ghouls
Run manchester schools
Spineless swines
Cemented minds
Sir leads the troops
Jealous of youth
Same old suit since 1962
He does the military two-step
Down the nape of my neck
I wanna go home
I dont wanna stay
Give up education
As a bad mistake
Mid-week on the playing fields
Sir thwacks you on the knees
Knees you in the groin
Elbow in the face
Bruises bigger than dinner plates
I wanna go home
I dont wanna stay
Da-da-da ...
Belligerent ghouls
Run manchester schools
Spineless bastards all ...
Sir leads the troops
Jealous of youth
Same old jokes since 1902
He does the military two-step
Down the nape of my neck
I wanna go home
I dont want to stay
Give up life
As a bad mistake
Please excuse me from gym
Ive got this terrible cold coming on
He grabs and devours
He kicks me in the showers
Kicks me in the showers
And he grabs and devours
I want to go home
I dont want to stay...
Da-da-da ...

song performed by Smiths
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Train Wreck Ended By Car Wreck

There was a girl
(isn't there always?)
We met at a party where I was drunk and belligerent.
I usually am with pretty girls at parties who approach me,
I figure life will spoon feed them due to their looks for 30, MAYBE 40 years.
Who am I to perpetrate such a lie?
'You don't need personality or brains.. as long as you have your looks'
I am always belligerent to pretty girls when I am drinking and approached.

To hell with them.

'I'm a witch' she told me.
'We use to burn people like you.'
20 minutes later I was being drug through the party,
vision like a badly done cinema verite film,
towards the front door.

We ended up at her place.
a rat hole apartment
a students apartment.
It was covered with new age 'wiccan' paraphenalia...
ankhs, statues of cats, crystals, a wand I wasn't allowed to touch...
pretty sure if I had been able to it would have read 'made in China' somewhere on it, and plenty of books on the same subject.

She left me alone in that room, I went through her records
you can't judge a book by the cover,
but you can judge a person by their records...
all Enya, P.J. Harvey, Portishead and Coteau Twins.
No Clash
No Miles Davis
This was all I needed to know...
She was not to be trusted.

She unwrapped some tarrot cards gently from a swatch of silk.
She read my cards,
I tried to focus
but the room kept swaying.
as we sat on her floor.
'So, do they say I'm gonna get laid tonight? '
They did,
I did,
I then made up some excuse and staggered home singing
P.J. Hravey's 'Rid Of Me'....

2 weeks later I met her best friend at a bar.
She was wearing a pair of stretch pants that has the word 'slut'
printed all over them,
She wore them well.
'I heard you are a lot of fun.' she said
turning from her mixed drink, flipping her blond hair, she looked at me.

[...] Read more

poem by Brevet Wilson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Abrasive Waves (Revised)

Belligerent discourse, each statement
aggressively confronts, an aggravated
inflexion rasps pugnaciously, grating
voice deepens ostentatiously for each
pretentious word at end-of-phrase

Drawn out vowels – discordant notes
create nerve-quaking noise, grows
exasperation in already aching ears,
words exploding in my mind until I’m
speechless with dismay

Only physical separation can dissipate
this callous cacophony, prevent it from
breaking in abrasive waves…

[ORIGINAL]

Belligerent talking, every statement
an aggressive challenge, an irritated
inflexion becoming a rasping sound,
lowering this grating voice for each
significant word at the end of a phrase

Drawn out vowels in discordant notes
become a nerve-wrecking noise, creating
a feeling of such exasperation my ears
start to hurt, exploding in my mind
until I am speechless with dismay

Only physical distance can shut out this
callous cacophony breaking in
abrasive waves…

poem by Margaret Alice Second
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Everybody is ambitious. The question is whether he is ambitious to be or ambitious to do.

quote by Jean Monnet
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Four Seasons : Autumn

Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,
While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,
Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more,
Well pleased, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost
Nitrous prepared; the various blossom'd Spring
Put in white promise forth; and Summer-suns
Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view,
Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.
Onslow! the Muse, ambitious of thy name,
To grace, inspire, and dignify her song,
Would from the public voice thy gentle ear
A while engage. Thy noble cares she knows,
The patriot virtues that distend thy thought,
Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow;
While listening senates hang upon thy tongue,
Devolving through the maze of eloquence
A roll of periods, sweeter than her song.
But she too pants for public virtue, she,
Though weak of power, yet strong in ardent will,
Whene'er her country rushes on her heart,
Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries
To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame.
When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days,
And Libra weighs in equal scales the year;
From Heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook
Of parting Summer, a serener blue,
With golden light enliven'd, wide invests
The happy world. Attemper'd suns arise,
Sweet-beam'd, and shedding oft through lucid clouds
A pleasing calm; while broad, and brown, below
Extensive harvests hang the heavy head.
Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a gale
Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain:
A calm of plenty! till the ruffled air
Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow.
Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky;
The clouds fly different; and the sudden sun
By fits effulgent gilds the illumined field,
And black by fits the shadows sweep along.
A gaily chequer'd heart-expanding view,
Far as the circling eye can shoot around,
Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn.
These are thy blessings, Industry! rough power!
Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain;
Yet the kind source of every gentle art,
And all the soft civility of life:
Raiser of human kind! by Nature cast,
Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods
And wilds, to rude inclement elements;
With various seeds of art deep in the mind

[...] Read more

poem by James Thomson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Rubaiyat Of A Robin - After Edward Fitzgerald - Rubaiyat Of Omar Khayyam

Jest plays with rubaiyat and, four by four,
unseals for your amusement more and more
verses together thread in rosary
unreeled to bloom till tomb will curtains draw.

Repealed are value judgement and perspective
revealed through standpoint purely introspective,
darkside concealed of moon’s yin-yang shines clear
when we’re in orbit, - option more effective.

Rolled form performs rôle midwife to perception,
sprung tongue in cheek, tweaks sense of imperfection
or willingness to leach between the lines,
impeach entrenched ideas of self-[s]election.

This prose arose as stream deprived of section,
where ‘dip at will’ will still sustain inspection,
the current’s sense, at odds with current views
ignores round holes, square pegs, top-down direction.

Here there’s no fear of critics’ peer rejection,
contention treated with due circumspection
intention is to mention for retention
an overview or clue to extrospection.

Life’s curtains are a veil through which few see,
as many haste taste-waste eternity,
mixed up, ignore life fixes finite sum
to/through infinite opportunity.

Can “Truth” exist? all ask, who seek its core,
we, modest, etch our words to sketch the score,
diverse the verses which converge to link
reflections mirrored many times before.

Vast content, style, a while, united are,
aim at soul stimulation, nothing bar,
to pleasure, treasure, or discard at will
as minds outreach to other minds on par.

Meditating, we shed light on what
tomorrow’s tot may factor into ‘bot’ -
the poet’s lot, forgot, to help all think
ahead of time, enhance life for a lot

Some seek Nirvana, Faith speaks more than “how”.
Others reject Salvation’s wraith, - w[h]ine “now”.
Verifying facts? Inventing dreams?
Each furrow-burrows with a different plough.

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Men may be popular without being ambitious, but there is hardly an ambitious man who does not try to be popular.

quote by Lord North
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

People say it's not ambitious, but it is actually quite ambitious wanting to help people.

quote by Prince William
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Turn It Off

I'm conscious of liars that cross my path
The sinners ambitious to rule this land
The gardens are dead and the walls have bled
People betrayed in a secret rage
Turn it off, somebody's asking me
Turn it off, somebody hears
Turn it off, somebody's asking me
Turn it off, somebody show a better way
The system's in distress
We feel the consequence, yeah
Sinners and liars have crossed my path
There's simple disgrace from the souls of man
My sister's in rags and her babes in pain
Turn it off, somebody's asking me
Turn it off, somebody hears
Turn it off, somebody's asking me
Turn it off, somebody show a better way
Don't hear the words I'm preaching
If you deny the times of tribulation
Don't read the words I've given
If you believe there's sides to revelations
Life that once was taken brings a million lives to isolation
Brings a million lives to isolation
Turn it off, somebody's asking me
Turn it off, somebody hears
Turn it off, somebody's asking me
Turn it off, somebody show a better way
I'm conscious of liars that cross my path
The sinners ambitious to rule this land
The gardens are dead and the walls have bled
(Anthony Cosmo)

song performed by Boston
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Makin' Whoopee

Another bride
Another June
Another sunny - honeymoon
Another season
Another reason
For makin' whoopee
A lot o' shoes
A lot o' rice
The groom is nervous
He answers twice
It's really killin'
That he's so willin'
To make whoopee
Picture a little love nest
Down where the roses cling
Picture the same sweet love nest
See what a year can bring
He's washin' dishes
And baby clo-othes
He's so ambitious
He even sews
But don't forget folks
That's what you get folks
For makin' whoopee
He's washin' dishes
And baby clo-othes
He's so ambitious
He even sews
But don't forget folks
That's what you get folks
For makin' whoopee, whoopee, whoopee-ee

song performed by Nat King Cole
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Book I Read

Im writing bout the
Book I read
I have to sing about the
Book I read
Im embarassed to admit it hit the soft spot in my heart
When I found out you wrote the
Book I read so
Take my shoulders as they touch your arms ive
Got little cold chills but I feel alright the
Book I read was in your eyes oh oh
Oh...Im living in the future.
I feel wonderful.
Im tipping over backwards
Im so ambitious
Im looking back im
Running a race and youre the book I read so
Feel my fingers as they
Touch your arms
Im spinning around but I feel alright
The book I read was in your eyes
Na na na na...na na na na na na na
Na na na na...na na na na na na na
Na na na na na...na na na na na na na
Na na na na...na na na na na na na
Na na na na...na na na na na na na
Na na na na...na na na na na na na
Na na na na...oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oooooh...Im living in the future
I feel wonderful
Im tipping over backwards
Im so ambitious
Im looking back im
Running a race and youre the books I read so
Feel my fingers as they touch you arms im
Spinning around and I feel alright
The book I read was in your eyes
Na na na na na...na na na na na na na
Na na na na...na na na na na na na na
Na na na na...na na na na na na na na
Na na na na...na na na na na na na na
Na na na na...na na na na na na na na
Na na na na...na na na na na na na na
Na na na na...oh oh oh oh oh oh oooh..

song performed by Talking Heads
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Ninth Book

EVEN thus. I pause to write it out at length,
The letter of the Lady Waldemar.–

'I prayed your cousin Leigh to take you this,
He says he'll do it. After years of love,
Or what is called so,–when a woman frets
And fools upon one string of a man's name,
And fingers it for ever till it breaks,–
He may perhaps do for her such thing,
And she accept it without detriment
Although she should not love him any more
And I, who do not love him, nor love you,
Nor you, Aurora,–choose you shall repent
Your most ungracious letter, and confess,
Constrained by his convictions, (he's convinced)
You've wronged me foully. Are you made so ill,
You woman–to impute such ill to me?
We both had mothers,–lay in their bosom once.
Why, after all, I thank you, Aurora Leigh,
For proving to myself that there are things
I would not do, . . not for my life . . nor him . .
Though something I have somewhat overdone,–
For instance, when I went to see the gods
One morning, on Olympus, with a step
That shook the thunder in a certain cloud,
Committing myself vilely. Could I think,
The Muse I pulled my heart out from my breast
To soften, had herself a sort of heart,
And loved my mortal? He, at least, loved her;
I heard him say so; 'twas my recompence,
When, watching at his bedside fourteen days,
He broke out ever like a flame at whiles
Between the heats of fever . . . 'Is it thou?
'Breathe closer, sweetest mouth!' and when at last
The fever gone, the wasted face extinct
As if it irked him much to know me there,
He said, Twas kind, 'twas good, 'twas womanly,'
(And fifty praises to excuse one love)
'But was the picture safe he had ventured for?'
And then, half wandering . . 'I have loved her well,
Although she could not love me.'–'Say instead,'
I answered, 'that she loves you.'–'Twas my turn
To rave: (I would have married him so changed,
Although the world had jeered me properly
For taking up with Cupid at his worst,
The silver quiver worn off on his hair.)
'No, no,' he murmured, 'no, she loves me not;
'Aurora Leigh does better: bring her book
'And read it softly, Lady Waldemar,
'Until I thank your friendship more for that,

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Four Ages of Man

1.1 Lo now! four other acts upon the stage,
1.2 Childhood, and Youth, the Manly, and Old-age.
1.3 The first: son unto Phlegm, grand-child to water,
1.4 Unstable, supple, moist, and cold's his Nature.
1.5 The second: frolic claims his pedigree;
1.6 From blood and air, for hot and moist is he.
1.7 The third of fire and choler is compos'd,
1.8 Vindicative, and quarrelsome dispos'd.
1.9 The last, of earth and heavy melancholy,
1.10 Solid, hating all lightness, and all folly.
1.11 Childhood was cloth'd in white, and given to show,
1.12 His spring was intermixed with some snow.
1.13 Upon his head a Garland Nature set:
1.14 Of Daisy, Primrose, and the Violet.
1.15 Such cold mean flowers (as these) blossom betime,
1.16 Before the Sun hath throughly warm'd the clime.
1.17 His hobby striding, did not ride, but run,
1.18 And in his hand an hour-glass new begun,
1.19 In dangers every moment of a fall,
1.20 And when 'tis broke, then ends his life and all.
1.21 But if he held till it have run its last,
1.22 Then may he live till threescore years or past.
1.23 Next, youth came up in gorgeous attire
1.24 (As that fond age, doth most of all desire),
1.25 His Suit of Crimson, and his Scarf of Green.
1.26 In's countenance, his pride quickly was seen.
1.27 Garland of Roses, Pinks, and Gillyflowers
1.28 Seemed to grow on's head (bedew'd with showers).
1.29 His face as fresh, as is Aurora fair,
1.30 When blushing first, she 'gins to red the Air.
1.31 No wooden horse, but one of metal try'd:
1.32 He seems to fly, or swim, and not to ride.
1.33 Then prancing on the Stage, about he wheels;
1.34 But as he went, death waited at his heels.
1.35 The next came up, in a more graver sort,
1.36 As one that cared for a good report.
1.37 His Sword by's side, and choler in his eyes,
1.38 But neither us'd (as yet) for he was wise,
1.39 Of Autumn fruits a basket on his arm,
1.40 His golden rod in's purse, which was his charm.
1.41 And last of all, to act upon this Stage,
1.42 Leaning upon his staff, comes up old age.
1.43 Under his arm a Sheaf of wheat he bore,
1.44 A Harvest of the best: what needs he more?
1.45 In's other hand a glass, ev'n almost run,
1.46 This writ about: This out, then I am done.
1.47 His hoary hairs and grave aspect made way,
1.48 And all gave ear to what he had to say.
1.49 These being met, each in his equipage
1.50 Intend to speak, according to their age,

[...] Read more

poem by Anne Bradstreet
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

All Is Vanity

I

How vain is Life! which rightly we compare
To flying Posts, that haste away;
To Plants, that fade with the declining Day;
To Clouds, that sail amidst the yielding Air;
Till by Extention into that they flow,
Or, scatt'ring on the World below,
Are lost and gone, ere we can say they were;
To Autumn-leaves, which every Wind can chace;
To rising Bubbles, on the Waters Face;
To fleeting Dreams, that will not stay,
Nor in th' abused Fancy dance,
When the returning Rays of Light,
Resuming their alternate Right,
Break on th' ill-order'd Scene on the fantastick Trance:
As weak is Man, whilst Tenant to the Earth;
As frail and as uncertain all his Ways,
From the first moment of his weeping Birth,
Down to the last and best of his few restless Days;
When to the Land of Darkness he retires
From disappointed Hopes, and frustrated Desires;
Reaping no other Fruit of all his Pain
Bestow'd whilst in the vale of Tears below,
But this unhappy Truth, at last to know,
That Vanity's our Lot, and all Mankind is Vain.

II

If past the hazard of his tendrest Years,
Neither in thoughtless Sleep opprest,
Nor poison'd with a tainted Breast,
Loos'd from the infant Bands and female Cares,
A studious Boy, advanc'd beyond his Age,
Wastes the dim Lamp, and turns the restless Page;
For some lov'd Book prevents the rising Day,
And on it, stoln aside, bestows the Hours of Play;
Him the observing Master do's design
For search of darkned Truths and Mysteries Divine;
Bids him with unremitted Labour trace
The Rise of Empires, and their various Fates,
The several Tyrants o'er the several States,
To Babel's lofty Towers, and warlike Nimrod's Race;
Bids him in Paradice the Bank survey,
Where Man, new-moulded from the temper'd Clay,
(Till fir'd with Breath Divine) a helpless Figure lay:
Could he be led thus far--What were the Boast,
What the Reward of all the Toil it cost,
What from that Land of ever-blooming Spring,
For our Instruction could he bring,

[...] Read more

poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Shepheardes Calender: Februarie

Februarie: Ægloga Secunda. CVDDIE & THENOT.

CVDDIE.
AH for pittie, wil ranke Winters rage,
These bitter blasts neuer ginne tasswage?
The keene cold blowes throug my beaten hyde,
All as I were through the body gryde.
My ragged rontes all shiver and shake,
As doen high Towers in an earthquake:
They wont in the wind wagge their wrigle tailes,
Perke as Peacock: but nowe it auales.

THENOT.
Lewdly complainest thou laesie ladde,
Of Winters wracke, for making thee sadde.
Must not the world wend in his commun course
From good to badd, and from badde to worse,
From worse vnto that is worst of all,
And then returne to his former fall?
Who will not suffer the stormy time,
Where will he liue tyll the lusty prime?
Selfe haue I worne out thrise threttie yeares,
Some in much ioy, many in many teares:
Yet never complained of cold nor heate,
Of Sommers flame, nor of Winters threat:
Ne euer was to Fortune foeman,
But gently tooke, that vngently came.
And euer my flocke was my chiefe care,
Winter or Sommer they mought well fare.

CVDDIE.
No marueile Thenot, if thou can not beare
Cherefully the Winters wrathfull cheare:
For Age and Winter accord full nie,
This chill, that cold, this crooked, that wrye.
And as the lowring Wether lookes downe,
So semest thou like good fryday to frowne.
But my flowring youth is foe to frost,
My shippe vnwont in stormes to be tost.

THENOT.
The soueraigne of seas he blames in vaine,
That once seabeate, will to sea againe.
So loytring liue you little heardgroomes,
Keeping your beastes in the budded broomes:
And when the shining sunne laugheth once,
You deemen, the Spring is come attonce.
Tho gynne you, fond flyes, the cold to scorn,
And crowing in pypes made of greene corne,
You thinken to be Lords of the yeare.

[...] Read more

poem by Edmund Spenser
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Hero And Leander. The Fifth Sestiad

Now was bright Hero weary of the day,
Thought an Olympiad in Leander's stay.
Sol and the soft-foot Hours hung on his arms,
And would not let him swim, foreseeing his harms:
That day Aurora double grace obtain'd
Of her love Phoebus; she his horses reign'd,
Set on his golden knee, and, as she list,
She pull'd him back; and as she pull'd she kiss'd,
To have him turn to bed: he lov'd her more,
To see the love Leander Hero bore:
Examples profit much; ten times in one,
In persons full of note, good deeds are done.
Day was so long, men walking fell asleep;
The heavy humours that their eyes did steep
Made them fear mischiefs. The hard streets were beds
For covetous churls and for ambitious heads,
That, spite of Nature, would their business ply:
All thought they had the falling epilepsy,
Men grovell'd so upon the smother'd ground;
And pity did the heart of Heaven confound.
The Gods, the Graces, and the Muses came
Down to the Destinies, to stay the frame
Of the true lovers' deaths, and all world's tears:
But Death before had stopp'd their cruel ears.
All the celestials parted mourning then,
Pierc'd with our human miseries more than men:
Ah, nothing doth the world with mischief fill,
But want of feeling one another's ill!
With their descent the day grew something fair,
And cast a brighter robe upon the air.
Hero, to shorten time with merriment,
For young Alcmane and bright Mya sent,
Two lovers that had long crav'd marriage-dues
At Hero's hands: but she did still refuse;
For lovely Mya was her consort vow'd
In her maid state, and therefore not allow'd
To amorous nuptials: yet fair Hero now
Intended to dispense with her cold vow,
Since hers was broken, and to marry her:
The rites would pleasing matter minister
To her conceits, and shorten tedious day.
They came; sweet Music usher'd th' odorous way,
And wanton Air in twenty sweet forms danced
After her fingers; Beauty and Love advanced
Their ensigns in the downless rosy faces
Of youths and maids led after by the Graces.
For all these Hero made a friendly feast,
Welcom'd them kindly, did much love protest,
Winning their hearts with all the means she might.
That, when her fault should chance t' abide the light

[...] Read more

poem by George Chapman
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Absalom and Achitophel

In pious times, e'er Priest-craft did begin,
Before Polygamy was made a sin;
When man, on many, multiply'd his kind,
E'r one to one was, cursedly, confind:
When Nature prompted, and no law deny'd
Promiscuous use of Concubine and Bride;
Then, Israel's monarch, after Heaven's own heart,
His vigorous warmth did, variously, impart
To Wives and Slaves; And, wide as his Command,
Scatter'd his Maker's Image through the Land.
Michal, of Royal blood, the Crown did wear,
A Soyl ungratefull to the Tiller's care;
Not so the rest; for several Mothers bore
To Godlike David, several Sons before.
But since like slaves his bed they did ascend,
No True Succession could their seed attend.
Of all this Numerous Progeny was none
So Beautifull, so brave as Absalon:
Whether, inspir'd by some diviner Lust,
His father got him with a greater Gust;
Or that his Conscious destiny made way
By manly beauty to Imperiall sway.
Early in Foreign fields he won Renown,
With Kings and States ally'd to Israel's Crown
In Peace the thoughts of War he could remove,
And seem'd as he were only born for love.
What e'er he did was done with so much ease,
In him alone, 'twas Natural to please.
His motions all accompanied with grace;
And Paradise was open'd in his face.
With secret Joy, indulgent David view'd
His Youthfull Image in his Son renew'd:
To all his wishes Nothing he deny'd,
And made the Charming Annabel his Bride.
What faults he had (for who from faults is free?)
His Father could not, or he would not see.
Some warm excesses, which the Law forbore,
Were constru'd Youth that purg'd by boyling o'r:
And Amnon's Murther, by a specious Name,
Was call'd a Just Revenge for injur'd Fame.
Thus Prais'd, and Lov'd, the Noble Youth remain'd,
While David, undisturb'd, in Sion raign'd.
But Life can never be sincerely blest:
Heaven punishes the bad, and proves the best.
The Jews, a Headstrong, Moody, Murmuring race,
As ever try'd th' extent and stretch of grace;
God's pamper'd people whom, debauch'd with ease,
No King could govern, nor no God could please;
(Gods they had tri'd of every shape and size
That Gods-smiths could produce, or Priests devise.)

[...] Read more

poem by John Dryden
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Endymion: Book III

There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men
With most prevailing tinsel: who unpen
Their baaing vanities, to browse away
The comfortable green and juicy hay
From human pastures; or, O torturing fact!
Who, through an idiot blink, will see unpack'd
Fire-branded foxes to sear up and singe
Our gold and ripe-ear'd hopes. With not one tinge
Of sanctuary splendour, not a sight
Able to face an owl's, they still are dight
By the blear-eyed nations in empurpled vests,
And crowns, and turbans. With unladen breasts,
Save of blown self-applause, they proudly mount
To their spirit's perch, their being's high account,
Their tiptop nothings, their dull skies, their thrones--
Amid the fierce intoxicating tones
Of trumpets, shoutings, and belabour'd drums,
And sudden cannon. Ah! how all this hums,
In wakeful ears, like uproar past and gone--
Like thunder clouds that spake to Babylon,
And set those old Chaldeans to their tasks.--
Are then regalities all gilded masks?
No, there are throned seats unscalable
But by a patient wing, a constant spell,
Or by ethereal things that, unconfin'd,
Can make a ladder of the eternal wind,
And poise about in cloudy thunder-tents
To watch the abysm-birth of elements.
Aye, 'bove the withering of old-lipp'd Fate
A thousand Powers keep religious state,
In water, fiery realm, and airy bourne;
And, silent as a consecrated urn,
Hold sphery sessions for a season due.
Yet few of these far majesties, ah, few!
Have bared their operations to this globe--
Few, who with gorgeous pageantry enrobe
Our piece of heaven--whose benevolence
Shakes hand with our own Ceres; every sense
Filling with spiritual sweets to plenitude,
As bees gorge full their cells. And, by the feud
'Twixt Nothing and Creation, I here swear,
Eterne Apollo! that thy Sister fair
Is of all these the gentlier-mightiest.
When thy gold breath is misting in the west,
She unobserved steals unto her throne,
And there she sits most meek and most alone;
As if she had not pomp subservient;
As if thine eye, high Poet! was not bent
Towards her with the Muses in thine heart;
As if the ministring stars kept not apart,

[...] Read more

poem by John Keats
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!