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The merit of originality is not novelty; it is sincerity.

quote by Thomas Carlyle
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The Rosciad

Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.

Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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An Essay on Criticism

Part I

INTRODUCTION. That it is as great a fault to judge ill as to write ill, and a more dangerous one to the public. That a true Taste is as rare to be found as a true Genius. That most men are born with some Taste, but spoiled by false education. The multitude of Critics, and causes of them. That we are to study our own Taste, and know the limits of it. Nature the best guide of judgment. Improved by Art and rules, which are but methodized Nature. Rules derived from the practice of the ancient poets. That therefore the ancients are necessary to be studied by a Critic, particularly Homer and Virgil. Of licenses, and the use of them by the ancients. Reverence due to the ancients, and praise of them.

'Tis hard to say if greater want of skill
Appear in writing or in judging ill;
But of the two less dangerous is th'offence
To tire our patience than mislead our sense:
Some few in that, but numbers err in this;
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;
A fool might once himself alone expose;
Now one in verse makes many more in prose.

'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In Poets as true Genius is but rare,
True Taste as seldom is the Critic's share;
Both must alike from Heav'n derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others who themselves excel,
And censure freely who have written well;
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not Critics to their judgment too?

Yet if we look more closely, we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind:
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;
The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn right:
But as the slightest sketch, if justly traced,
Is by ill col'ring but the more disgraced,
So by false learning is good sense defaced:
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools:
In search of wit these lose their common sense,
And then turn Critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can or cannot write,
Or with a rival's or an eunuch's spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing side.
If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite,
There are who judge still worse than he can write.

Some have at first for Wits, then Poets pass'd;
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain Fools at last.
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pass,
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Those half-learn'd witlings, numerous in our isle,
As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,

[...] Read more

poem by Alexander Pope
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Sincerity

(l. stansfield/i. devaney/ a. morris)
Spoken:
People say they care, but when it come down to it
Do they have what Im singing for
Lets sing it for
Sincerity
Sincerity
People, rushin round in their lonely lives
Theyd like to care for others, but frankly,
They dont have the time
cause theyre always doin the things
They have to do so theyll be alright
Their always lookin out for their own side
People think theyve got priorities right
Chorus:
Sincerity
The road we need to travel for a better way of life
Sincerity
An attitude we need to take if we want to survive
Come on give me (come on) sincerity
Come on give me (come on) sincerity
Heartaches, everybody now and then
Theyre cryin out for others,
To listen to them like a friend
But were always sayin we dont have the time
But we really sympathize, maybe another time
Dont think about tomorrow
Do it while youve got the chance
Chorus
Come on give me (come on) sincerity
Come on give me (come on) sincerity
But were always sayin we dont have the time
We really sympathize, well, maybe another time
Dont think about tomorrow
Do it while youve got the chance
Chorus

song performed by Lisa Stansfield
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An Epistle To William Hogarth

Amongst the sons of men how few are known
Who dare be just to merit not their own!
Superior virtue and superior sense,
To knaves and fools, will always give offence;
Nay, men of real worth can scarcely bear,
So nice is jealousy, a rival there.
Be wicked as thou wilt; do all that's base;
Proclaim thyself the monster of thy race:
Let vice and folly thy black soul divide;
Be proud with meanness, and be mean with pride.
Deaf to the voice of Faith and Honour, fall
From side to side, yet be of none at all:
Spurn all those charities, those sacred ties,
Which Nature, in her bounty, good as wise,
To work our safety, and ensure her plan,
Contrived to bind and rivet man to man:
Lift against Virtue, Power's oppressive rod;
Betray thy country, and deny thy God;
And, in one general comprehensive line,
To group, which volumes scarcely could define,
Whate'er of sin and dulness can be said,
Join to a Fox's heart a Dashwood's head;
Yet may'st thou pass unnoticed in the throng,
And, free from envy, safely sneak along:
The rigid saint, by whom no mercy's shown
To saints whose lives are better than his own,
Shall spare thy crimes; and Wit, who never once
Forgave a brother, shall forgive a dunce.
But should thy soul, form'd in some luckless hour,
Vile interest scorn, nor madly grasp at power;
Should love of fame, in every noble mind
A brave disease, with love of virtue join'd,
Spur thee to deeds of pith, where courage, tried
In Reason's court, is amply justified:
Or, fond of knowledge, and averse to strife,
Shouldst thou prefer the calmer walk of life;
Shouldst thou, by pale and sickly study led,
Pursue coy Science to the fountain-head;
Virtue thy guide, and public good thy end,
Should every thought to our improvement tend,
To curb the passions, to enlarge the mind,
Purge the sick Weal, and humanise mankind;
Rage in her eye, and malice in her breast,
Redoubled Horror grining on her crest,
Fiercer each snake, and sharper every dart,
Quick from her cell shall maddening Envy start.
Then shalt thou find, but find, alas! too late,
How vain is worth! how short is glory's date!
Then shalt thou find, whilst friends with foes conspire,
To give more proof than virtue would desire,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Long Live Apartheid

I was feeling sad and red,
I didn’t know, which way, nation was going.
There were quotas all around,
Communal, caste, gender, language, regional and physical,

And what not, do not know.
Quota in the air, quota in the sky,
Quota in the ground,
Quotas everywhere.

We are here as in a caste republic,
Swept with the farce of equality and secularism,
Where racism is the grating roar,
Bring the eternal note of discrimination.

Alas! There was no peace,
No help for needy poor, dying farmers,
Braving soldiers and wailing widows,
Where racial leaders loot day, in and day out.

Looking high and low, reservation every where,
Merit was trampled underneath the boots,
It was wailing in the brutal world,
Humanity and merit was burning.

It was not a wild fire,
It was the fire of innocence,
Youth, merit and justice,
And knaves were counting their votes.

They were not the brokers of social justice,
They were not the paid ponies of secularism,
But it was the truth burning for justice,
It was the merit crying for honor.

The knaves were dancing on their pyre,
Waiting for another pray, to be burnt alive,
They were cruel masters and have no pain,
Butchers were shining the dagger to stab merit.

They died for justice, vultures live for injustice,
They died for merit, they live for destruction,
They died for truth, they live for farce,
They died for the nation, they live for decay.

Remember it was not a simple fire,
The hot blaze will burn the knaves,
One day the butchers will get the message,
Or else, as in the past, nation will be devoured by slavery,

[...] Read more

poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma
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Melanie

Melanie is sweet
A vision on her feet
So young so fair
A bridge of iron
Standing tall between two parted spheres
Shes a novelty of reality
Though she tried so hard
My sweet darling melanie
Shes glad for what shes had
Her mom and several dads so she complained
This modern love affair
With life can really get you down
Shes a novelty of reality
But she tried so hard my sweet darling melanie
Ooh but life goes on
Ooh the same old song
Ooh but loves in search of mystery
So you worked so hard my sweet darling melanie
Over the horizon
Birds of paradise sit in her eyes
You can feel forever on her sweet and silken sighs
Shes novelty of reality
So she tried so hard my sweet darling melanie
Na, na, na
Shes novelty of reality
So she tried so hard my sweet darling melanie
So she tried so hard my sweet darling melanie
Na, na, na...

song performed by Donna Summer
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The Authors: A Satire

Bright Arts, abus'd, like Gems, receive their Flaws;
Physick has Quacks, and Quirks obscure the Laws.
Fables to shade Historic Truths combine,
And the dark Sophist dims the Text Divine.
The Art of Reasoning in Religion's Cause,
By Superstition's Taint a Blindness draws.
The Art of Thinking Free (Man's noblest Aim!)
Turns, in Half-thinking Souls, his equal Shame.
Colours, ill-mingled, coarse, and lifeless grow!
Violins squeak, when Scrapers work the Bow!
Distortion deadens Action's temper'd Fire!
Belab'ring Poetasters thrum the Lyre!
Gesture shuns Strut, and Elocution, Cant!
Passion lies murder'd by unmeaning Rant!
Wit we debase, if Ribaldry we praise,
And Satire fades, when Slander wears the Bays.

YOU, to whose Scrolls a just Neglect is shewn,
Whose Names, tho' printed oft, remain unknown;
I war not with the Weak, if wanting Fame,
The Proud, and Prosp'rous Trifler is my Game.
With usual Wit, unfelt while you assail,
Remark unanswer'd, and unheeded Rail!
Or heeded, know I can your Censure prize,
For a Fool's Praise is Censure from the Wise;
If then my Labour your kind Malice draws,
Censure from you is from the Wise Applause.

YOU, who delineate strong our Lust of Fame,
These mimic Lays your kind Protection claim!
My Frown, like your's, would to Improvement tend,
You but assume the Foe, to act the Friend.
Pleasing, yet wounding, you our Faults rehearse,
Strong are your Thoughts! Inchanting rolls your Verse!
Deep, clear, and sounding! decent, yet sincere;
In Praise impartial, without Spleen severe.

'HOLD, Criticks cry-Erroneous are your Lays,
'Your Field was Satire, your Pursuit is Praise.'
True, you Profound!-I praise, but yet I sneer;
You're dark to Beauties, if to Errors clear!
Know my Lampoon's in Panegyric seen,
For just Applause turns Satire on your Spleen.

SHALL Ignorance and Insult claim my Rage?
Then with the World a gen'ral War I wage!
No-to some Follies Satire scorns to bend,
And Worth (or press'd, or prosp'rous) I commend.

FIRST, let me view what noxious Nonsense reigns,

[...] Read more

poem by Richard Savage
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There are three things which the public will always clamor for, sooner or later: namely, novelty, novelty, novelty.

quote by Thomas Hood
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All This Information

All of us seem to walk away from everything
It takes a certain amount of originality to describe this place as home
And all of us seem to walk away from everything
It takes a certain amount of originality to describe yourself as interesting
And all of us seem to walk away from everything
It takes a certain amount of originality to describe yourself as home
All this information that we have to choose from
It means nothing to you
It means nothing to you
There's no suggestion that it's needless
When the competition is so needless
It's all so meaningless
There's no suggestion that it's needless
When the competition is so needless
It's all so meaningless
All of us seem to walk away from everything
It takes a certain amount of personality to describe yourself as interesting
And all of us seem to walk away from everything
It takes a certain amount of personality to describe yourself as truly truly honest
All this information that we have to choose from
It means nothing to you
It means nothing to you
There's no suggestion that it's needless
When the competition is so needless
It's all so meaningless
There's no suggestion that it's needless
When the competition is so needless
It's all so meaningless
There's no suggestion that it's needless
When the competition is so needless
It's all so meaningless
There's no suggestion that it's needless
When the competition is so needless
It's so needless when things change

song performed by Idlewild
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Yesterday When I Was Mad (Hot Tracks)

Darling, you were wonderful, you really were quite good
I enjoyed that, though, of course, no one understood
A word of what was going on, they didn't have a clue
They couldn't understand your sense of humour like I do
You're much too kind
I smiled with murder on my mind
Yesterday, when I was mad
And quite prepared to give up everything
Admitting, I don't believe
In anyone's sincerity, and that's what's really got to me
You have a certain quality, which really is unique
Expressionless, such irony, although your voice is weak
It doesn't really matter 'cause the music is so loud
Of course it's all on tape, but no one will find out
You hated me too
But not as much as I hated you
Yesterday, when I was mad
And quite prepared to give up everything
Admitting, I don't believe
In anyone's sincerity, and that's what's really got to me
Then, when I was lonely
I thought again
And changed my mind
Then we posed for pictures with the competition winners
And argued about the hotel rooms, and where to go for dinner
And someone said: "It's fabulous you're still around today,
You've both made such a little go a very long way"
Yesterday, when I was mad
And quite prepared to give up everything
Admitting, I don't believe
In anyone's sincerity, and that's what's really got to me
Yesterday, when I was mad
And quite prepared to give up everything
Admitting, I don't believe
In anyone's sincerity, and that's what's really got to me
Then, when I was lonely
I thought again
And changed my mind

song performed by Pet Shop Boys
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Sincerity Prayer

Hours rush by
But the day no end
Darkness swift in
But nights not goin'
Remember this call of sincerity

Whatever it is in heaven
We call 'pon thee Lord
Give us way, and of righteous
Subtlety bind us to thine road

Chariots of bloody fame
Behind the silhouettes
Of merciless vampires
Rush past.
Remember this cry of sincerity

Whatever it is in heaven
We call 'pon thee Lord
Give us way, and of righteous
Subtlety bind us to thine road

Swords dripping with red
Hot blood held
Behind the name of Holly
In white garments in no shame
Remember this beg of sincerity

Whatever it is in heaven
We call 'pon thee Lord
Give us way, and of righteous
Subtlety bind us to thine road

Wondering in wilderness
Shivering in the night deserts
Stranded in wavy beaches
But no place to take the cry?
Remember this prayer of sincerity

Whatever it is in heaven
We call 'pon thee Lord
Give us way, and of righteous
Subtlety bind us to thine road

poem by Buyunde Acura Sylivester
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Love Me (Villanelle)

Love me with sincerity,
with the true feelings in your heart
in times of loss and of prosperity

while our influence linger into posterity
and may our lives never part.
Love me with t sincerity,

as if our words and deeds are more than surety
in truthfulness that is something of an art
in times of loss and of prosperity

and when we are old without any dexterity
may our feelings then last and never depart.
Love me with sincerity

that brings feelings to a kind of clarity,
that daily anew does start
in times of loss and of prosperity.

and may we constantly act in solidarity
as if nothing our affections can thwart.
Love me with sincerity,
in times of loss and of prosperity.

poem by Gert Strydom
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People Have Done This To Themselves

I miss sincerity.
And my friends and family members,
That shared theirs with me...
Who have moved on to other 'realms'.

I miss sincerity.
Too many today are so dishonest.
When someone opens their mouth,
My first reaction is to disbelieve.

People have done this to themselves.

Not to treasure one's integrity,
Is a sign an identity is lost.
And nothing is valued but delusion.

People have done this to themselves.

To express disrespect and receive it,
As if expected...
Is a quality of life lived not uplifted but diminished.

I miss sincerity.
And my friends and family members,
That shared theirs with me...
Who have moved on to other 'realms' of 'this' experience.

I miss sincerity.
Too many today are so dishonest.
When someone opens their mouth,
My first reaction is to disbelieve,
Not one word but every word said.

People have done this to themselves.

To express disrespect and receive it,
As if expected...
Is a quality of life lived not uplifted but diminished.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Paradise Regained

THE FIRST BOOK

I, WHO erewhile the happy Garden sung
By one man's disobedience lost, now sing
Recovered Paradise to all mankind,
By one man's firm obedience fully tried
Through all temptation, and the Tempter foiled
In all his wiles, defeated and repulsed,
And Eden raised in the waste Wilderness.
Thou Spirit, who led'st this glorious Eremite
Into the desert, his victorious field
Against the spiritual foe, and brought'st him thence 10
By proof the undoubted Son of God, inspire,
As thou art wont, my prompted song, else mute,
And bear through highth or depth of Nature's bounds,
With prosperous wing full summed, to tell of deeds
Above heroic, though in secret done,
And unrecorded left through many an age:
Worthy to have not remained so long unsung.
Now had the great Proclaimer, with a voice
More awful than the sound of trumpet, cried
Repentance, and Heaven's kingdom nigh at hand 20
To all baptized. To his great baptism flocked
With awe the regions round, and with them came
From Nazareth the son of Joseph deemed
To the flood Jordan--came as then obscure,
Unmarked, unknown. But him the Baptist soon
Descried, divinely warned, and witness bore
As to his worthier, and would have resigned
To him his heavenly office. Nor was long
His witness unconfirmed: on him baptized
Heaven opened, and in likeness of a Dove 30
The Spirit descended, while the Father's voice
From Heaven pronounced him his beloved Son.
That heard the Adversary, who, roving still
About the world, at that assembly famed
Would not be last, and, with the voice divine
Nigh thunder-struck, the exalted man to whom
Such high attest was given a while surveyed
With wonder; then, with envy fraught and rage,
Flies to his place, nor rests, but in mid air
To council summons all his mighty Peers, 40
Within thick clouds and dark tenfold involved,
A gloomy consistory; and them amidst,
With looks aghast and sad, he thus bespake:--
"O ancient Powers of Air and this wide World
(For much more willingly I mention Air,
This our old conquest, than remember Hell,
Our hated habitation), well ye know
How many ages, as the years of men,

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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Cadenus And Vanessa

THE shepherds and the nymphs were seen
Pleading before the Cyprian Queen.
The counsel for the fair began
Accusing the false creature, man.
The brief with weighty crimes was charged,
On which the pleader much enlarged:
That Cupid now has lost his art,
Or blunts the point of every dart;
His altar now no longer smokes;
His mother's aid no youth invokes—
This tempts free-thinkers to refine,
And bring in doubt their powers divine,
Now love is dwindled to intrigue,
And marriage grown a money-league.
Which crimes aforesaid (with her leave)
Were (as he humbly did conceive)
Against our Sovereign Lady's peace,
Against the statutes in that case,
Against her dignity and crown:
Then prayed an answer and sat down.

The nymphs with scorn beheld their foes:
When the defendant's counsel rose,
And, what no lawyer ever lacked,
With impudence owned all the fact.
But, what the gentlest heart would vex,
Laid all the fault on t'other sex.
That modern love is no such thing
As what those ancient poets sing;
A fire celestial, chaste, refined,
Conceived and kindled in the mind,
Which having found an equal flame,
Unites, and both become the same,
In different breasts together burn,
Together both to ashes turn.
But women now feel no such fire,
And only know the gross desire;
Their passions move in lower spheres,
Where'er caprice or folly steers.
A dog, a parrot, or an ape,
Or some worse brute in human shape
Engross the fancies of the fair,
The few soft moments they can spare
From visits to receive and pay,
From scandal, politics, and play,
From fans, and flounces, and brocades,
From equipage and park-parades,
From all the thousand female toys,
From every trifle that employs
The out or inside of their heads

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Swift
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The Vanity of Human Wishes (excerpts)

1 Let observation with extensive view,
2 Survey mankind, from China to Peru;
3 Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife,
4 And watch the busy scenes of crowded life;
5 Then say how hope and fear, desire and hate,
6 O'erspread with snares the clouded maze of fate,
7 Where wav'ring man, betray'd by vent'rous pride
8 To tread the dreary paths without a guide,
9 As treach'rous phantoms in the mist delude,
10 Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good.
11 How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice,
12 Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant voice,
13 How nations sink, by darling schemes oppress'd,
14 When vengeance listens to the fool's request.
15 Fate wings with ev'ry wish th' afflictive dart,
16 Each gift of nature, and each grace of art,
17 With fatal heat impetuous courage glows,
18 With fatal sweetness elocution flows,
19 Impeachment stops the speaker's pow'rful breath,
20 And restless fire precipitates on death.

21 But scarce observ'd the knowing and the bold,
22 Fall in the gen'ral massacre of gold;
23 Wide-wasting pest! that rages unconfin'd,
24 And crowds with crimes the records of mankind,
25 For gold his sword the hireling ruffian draws,
26 For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws;
27 Wealth heap'd on wealth, nor truth nor safety buys,
28 The dangers gather as the treasures rise.

29 Let hist'ry tell where rival kings command,
30 And dubious title shakes the madded land,
31 When statutes glean the refuse of the sword,
32 How much more safe the vassal than the lord,
33 Low sculks the hind beneath the rage of pow'r,
34 And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tow'r,
35 Untouch'd his cottage, and his slumbers sound,
36 Tho' confiscation's vultures hover round.

37 The needy traveller, serene and gay,
38 Walks the wild heath, and sings his toil away.
39 Does envy seize thee? crush th' upbraiding joy,
40 Increase his riches and his peace destroy,
41 New fears in dire vicissitude invade,
42 The rustling brake alarms, and quiv'ring shade,
43 Nor light nor darkness bring his pain relief.
44 One shews the plunder, and one hides the thief.

45 Yet still one gen'ral cry the skies assails,
46 And gain and grandeur load the tainted gales,

[...] Read more

poem by Samuel Johnson
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The Vanity of Human Wishes: The Tenth Satire of Juvenal, Im

Let observation with extensive view,
Survey mankind, from China to Peru;
Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife,
And watch the busy scenes of crowded life;
Then say how hope and fear, desire and hate,
O'erspread with snares the clouded maze of fate,
Where wav'ring man, betray'd by vent'rous pride
To tread the dreary paths without a guide,
As treach'rous phantoms in the mist delude,
Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good.
How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice,
Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant voice,
How nations sink, by darling schemes oppress'd,
When vengeance listens to the fool's request.
Fate wings with ev'ry wish th' afflictive dart,
Each gift of nature, and each grace of art,
With fatal heat impetuous courage glows,
With fatal sweetness elocution flows,
Impeachment stops the speaker's pow'rful breath,
And restless fire precipitates on death.

But scarce observ'd the knowing and the bold,
Fall in the gen'ral massacre of gold;
Wide-wasting pest! that rages unconfin'd,
And crowds with crimes the records of mankind,
For gold his sword the hireling ruffian draws,
For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws;
Wealth heap'd on wealth, nor truth nor safety buys,
The dangers gather as the treasures rise.

Let hist'ry tell where rival kings command,
And dubious title shakes the madded land,
When statutes glean the refuse of the sword,
How much more safe the vassal than the lord,
Low sculks the hind beneath the rage of pow'r,
And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tow'r,
Untouch'd his cottage, and his slumbers sound,
Tho' confiscation's vultures hover round.

The needy traveller, serene and gay,
Walks the wild heath, and sings his toil away.
Does envy seize thee? crush th' upbraiding joy,
Increase his riches and his peace destroy,
New fears in dire vicissitude invade,
The rustling brake alarms, and quiv'ring shade,
Nor light nor darkness bring his pain relief.
One shews the plunder, and one hides the thief.

Yet still one gen'ral cry the skies assails,
And gain and grandeur load the tainted gales,

[...] Read more

poem by Samuel Johnson
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The Victories Of Love. Book II

I
From Jane To Her Mother

Thank Heaven, the burthens on the heart
Are not half known till they depart!
Although I long'd, for many a year,
To love with love that casts out fear,
My Frederick's kindness frighten'd me,
And heaven seem'd less far off than he;
And in my fancy I would trace
A lady with an angel's face,
That made devotion simply debt,
Till sick with envy and regret,
And wicked grief that God should e'er
Make women, and not make them fair.
That he might love me more because
Another in his memory was,
And that my indigence might be
To him what Baby's was to me,
The chief of charms, who could have thought?
But God's wise way is to give nought
Till we with asking it are tired;
And when, indeed, the change desired
Comes, lest we give ourselves the praise,
It comes by Providence, not Grace;
And mostly our thanks for granted pray'rs
Are groans at unexpected cares.
First Baby went to heaven, you know,
And, five weeks after, Grace went, too.
Then he became more talkative,
And, stooping to my heart, would give
Signs of his love, which pleased me more
Than all the proofs he gave before;
And, in that time of our great grief,
We talk'd religion for relief;
For, though we very seldom name
Religion, we now think the same!
Oh, what a bar is thus removed
To loving and to being loved!
For no agreement really is
In anything when none's in this.
Why, Mother, once, if Frederick press'd
His wife against his hearty breast,
The interior difference seem'd to tear
My own, until I could not bear
The trouble. 'Twas a dreadful strife,
And show'd, indeed, that faith is life.
He never felt this. If he did,
I'm sure it could not have been hid;
For wives, I need not say to you,

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poem by Coventry Patmore
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Sincerity, Honesty and Truthfulness

Sincerity, Honesty and Truthfulness
are three aspects of life,
are the backbone of life
dispensing with these three aspects
life is futile, of no use
dispensing with these three aspects
prospects of life can not be imagined
supreme abode is far away
but, Sincerity, Honesty and Truthfulness
are the initial step of any life
all the creatures of nature
possess this quality with birth right
except the human being
who has to make his own right
to acquire Sincerity, Honesty and Truthfulness
needs full devotion in life.

poem by Ramesh Rai
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Had I Knew Ya!

I would not had wished you break your neck.
Had I knew ya!
I would have given you much more respect.
Had I knew ya.

With the best...
Had I knew ya!
Of sincerity one gets.

I would not had wished you break your neck.
Had I knew ya!
I would have given you much more respect.
Had I knew ya.

With the best...
Had I knew ya!
Of sincerity one gets.

You can bet...
My foul mouth would be kept,
Under lock and key and silent breath!

You can bet...
Knowing you don't annoy!
You can bet...
Knowing you don't annoy!

I would not had wished you break your neck.
Had I knew ya!
I would have given you much more respect.
Had I knew ya.

With the best...
Had I knew ya!
Of sincerity one gets.

Knowing you don't annoy!

I would not had wished you break your neck.
Had I knew ya!
You can bet...
Had I knew ya!
Knowing you don't annoy!

You can bet...
Had I knew ya!
Knowing you don't annoy!

You can bet...
Had I knew ya!

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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