These are icons to be treasured.
quote by Robert Stack
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Emoticons in my Life
Already In childlhood I had emoticons
of cry when I hungered and I longed for my mom
A lost toy is sorrow, the sting of ant is pain
A friend who went away left icons of despair
And then childhood I left onto adolescence
Everything around me began to have a sense
Emotions have causes so do emoticons
I myself cannot make my icons on my own
In my bachelorhood came the icon of frown
The incertitudes of love I could not understand
Came to me the icons of sorrow and despair
When in the field of love woefully I did fail
In the end I regained icons of hope and joy
when the heart of the woman that I love I won
Emoticons of anger in my manhood did come
Emotion I supressed, did not show everyone
Emotional outbursts I hid and overcome
Harmony and accord was foremost in my mind
I am now in old age, my smileys are few
The icon of laughter I now do never show
Emoticons are not for an old man to make
But dictated by God, icons I must accept
That always come with pain, ailments and body aches
poem by Pacific Hernandez
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Treasured Moments
Every one of us has moments,
treasured moments to call our own.
They come when we’re not looking,
and linger with us a lifetime.
They bring happiness
that we can look back on,
through our growing years.
No one can steal them from us,
nor taint them in anyway.
They are our treasured moments,
that linger with us,
even when we pray.
They are little time capsules
that hold our world together,
when we are feeling down.
They are the joys we reached,
when heaven said, its you.
Treasured moments
like photographs,
capture a moment in time.
We think of some thing to associate them with.
So when we see that thing
we can enjoy them once more,
those treasured moments.
31 May 2007
poem by David Harris
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Varanasi
Religious and cultural centre, holy city Varanasi
A revered shrine at bank of holy river Ganges.
Founded by God himself, Lord Shiva's adobe Kashi
Religious and cultural centre, holy city Varanasi.
Bathing in Ganges purifies soul and remits the sin,
Dying in Kashi ensures, obtaining the final release.
Religious and cultural centre, holy city Varanasi
A revered shrine at bank of holy river Ganges.
***
Morning mantra hymns make you feel in heaven,
Ghat, temples and festivals, are icons of Varanasi.
Sacred river, sacred place; Hindu's great pilgrimage
Morning mantra hymns make you feel in heaven.
The city has given birth to many great personalities
Great souls Tulsi, Kabir, Ravidas lived in varanasi.
Morning mantra hymns make you feel in heaven
Ghat, temples and festivals, are icons of Varanasi.
***
Varanasi is the city, where Budhism was founded
Sarnath, Budhist's holy place, is too in Varanasi.
First sermon to his disciples Budha here sounded
Varanasi is the city where Budhism was founded.
Glorified by creation of great music and literature,
Classical folk culture, music, craft and philosophy.
Varanasi is the city where Budhism was founded
Sarnath, Budhist's holy place, is too in Varanasi.
***
Triolet form
(C) S. D. Tiwari
sdtiwari1(at) gmail(dot) com
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Speaking Now Out Loud But Then Unspoken
Too many living in unrested desperation.
And giving up their hopes and treasured beliefs.
Too many living in arrested situations.
And many who have lived it have grown tired,
And they grieve.
But no one wants to leave their minds open.
And no one wants to keep their own delusions detached.
Many want to share how they are busted and broken.
And some just want treatment like 'elites'.
Speaking now out loud but then unspoken.
Too many living in unrested desperation.
And giving up their hopes and treasured beliefs.
Too many living in arrested situations.
And many who have lived it have grown tired,
And they grieve.
But no one wants to leave their minds open.
And giving up their hopes and treasured beliefs.
But no one wants to leave their minds open.
Many have grown tired and they grieve.
But no one wants to leave their minds open.
And some just wish to live as if stiff upper lip 'elites'.
Speaking now out loud but then unspoken.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Element of Coalesce
One has distress
Another’s got a hopeless longing
There exists such sorrow
Our precious treasured element
“Affection”
Life would be so valuable
To know that every personal you’d pass by
Is embracing you in their heart
Alluring you with a warm smile day after day
One has distress
Another’s got a hopeless longing
There exists such sorrow
Our precious treasured element
“Connection”
If you were to come across a girl in deep sorrow,
What would you do?
If you have distress, what can you do?
Would being there for her be enough to divulge the light?
For the first time, I feel like I didn’t say enough
Don’t stop breathing, this is only the beginning
I can’t keep swimming in this bitter world, knowing that you’re alone
I hate what the world’s done to you, to I, to us
One has distress
Another’s got a hopeless longing
There exists such sorrow
Our precious treasured element
“Love”
Look closely on the floor, you’ll see with your own eyes
The path that we took all those years to get here has already disintegrated
poem by Aiden Florence
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Time - Acrostic Palindrome Revisited
Titan Chronos wields sharp sickle, fickle Fate dictates gifts Gods
In second thoughts withdraw to pour cold water on fond hope,
Margin call all castles in the air to dust bring 'neath the sods,
Entropy replaces order, chaos borders balance, scope.
Time seeds seconds that it swallows as each follows each to teach
Idyll; Golden Age; soon harvests, rapeseed reaped with scarce a nod,
Mortality is empty dream, nothing living's out of reach
Ever will grim reaper gather what was given, trod to clod.
Time spins headlong, helter-skelter, alpha omega its hum,
Innate energy refocussed, hocus-pocus drawing blind,
Merging, surging, fresh emerging each dimension is assigned
Extra frequencies as harmonies seek equilibrium.
Thrust of course is force attraction contradictions overcome,
If upset the great equation's recreated, recombined,
Musters flux, reflux ethereal, in many ways declined,
Echo-systems spectra spectral, strata senses tuned as one.
Time from nano into nano ages stages fossil fuelled
Interspersing glaciation, dehydration, round and round
Myths upon examination show their roots as underground
Emerges, surface surges, strata cooled, their sense retooled.
Thus what once anticipation seemed probation turns as, schooled,
Independent thought's adopted as tradition sound, profound,
Marred by nations renovation bar, or scar with strict surround
Emphasizing naught surprising, innovations overruled
Though new cycle spins unpin past wins while progress must address
Inventively the challenges its choices stimulate
Migrating through some voices, denigrating other traits,
Eliminating those which probleme pose to those whose maladdress
Tends to influence trends 'safety' 'prudence' spendthrift short-term stress.
Interests vested often soften tracks orginal, contest
Modus operandi handy which could status quo divest,
Elevating into icons past emoticon success.
Time together birds of feather nests, two nurturing four more,
In addition for perdition they're included in Life's count,
Marking more for Death to tally, soon all rally scaffold mount,
Ever higher populations soar, regenerating core.
Tortoise Time of able fable, snide greed, pride, speed, overcome,
Is it justice? Is it balance? Those ahead dropp d[r]ead behind,
Making room through swift disposals for proposals less confined,
Express need for further testing, jesting, questing, inquest dumb.
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Heart
Angel among us
...so treasured and strong
You protect us, give us shelter
...you guide us through right and wrong
Your office door is always open
...your heart is never cold
You are our treasured gem
...with a heart made of gold
Cassie
for A. Knights
poem by CarolAnne Spalding
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The Undying One- Canto III
'THERE is a sound the autumn wind doth make
Howling and moaning, listlessly and low:
Methinks that to a heart that ought to break
All the earth's voices seem to murmur so.
The visions that crost
Our path in light--
The things that we lost
In the dim dark night--
The faces for which we vainly yearn--
The voices whose tones will not return--
That low sad wailing breeze doth bring
Borne on its swift and rushing wing.
Have ye sat alone when that wind was loud,
And the moon shone dim from the wintry cloud?
When the fire was quench'd on your lonely hearth,
And the voices were still which spoke of mirth?
If such an evening, tho' but one,
It hath been yours to spend alone--
Never,--though years may roll along
Cheer'd by the merry dance and song;
Though you mark'd not that bleak wind's sound before,
When louder perchance it used to roar--
Never shall sound of that wintry gale
Be aught to you but a voice of wail!
So o'er the careless heart and eye
The storms of the world go sweeping by;
But oh! when once we have learn'd to weep,
Well doth sorrow his stern watch keep.
Let one of our airy joys decay--
Let one of our blossoms fade away--
And all the griefs that others share
Seem ours, as well as theirs, to bear:
And the sound of wail, like that rushing wind
Shall bring all our own deep woe to mind!
'I went through the world, but I paused not now
At the gladsome heart and the joyous brow:
I went through the world, and I stay'd to mark
Where the heart was sore, and the spirit dark:
And the grief of others, though sad to see,
Was fraught with a demon's joy to me!
'I saw the inconstant lover come to take
Farewell of her he loved in better days,
And, coldly careless, watch the heart-strings break--
Which beat so fondly at his words of praise.
She was a faded, painted, guilt-bow'd thing,
Seeking to mock the hues of early spring,
When misery and years had done their worst
[...] Read more
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Gotham - Book III
Can the fond mother from herself depart?
Can she forget the darling of her heart,
The little darling whom she bore and bred,
Nursed on her knees, and at her bosom fed;
To whom she seem'd her every thought to give,
And in whose life alone she seem'd to live?
Yes, from herself the mother may depart,
She may forget the darling of her heart,
The little darling whom she bore and bred,
Nursed on her knees, and at her bosom fed,
To whom she seem'd her every thought to give,
And in whose life alone she seem'd to live;
But I cannot forget, whilst life remains,
And pours her current through these swelling veins,
Whilst Memory offers up at Reason's shrine;
But I cannot forget that Gotham's mine.
Can the stern mother, than the brutes more wild,
From her disnatured breast tear her young child,
Flesh of her flesh, and of her bone the bone,
And dash the smiling babe against a stone?
Yes, the stern mother, than the brutes more wild,
From her disnatured breast may tear her child,
Flesh of her flesh, and of her bone the bone,
And dash the smiling babe against a stone;
But I, (forbid it, Heaven!) but I can ne'er
The love of Gotham from this bosom tear;
Can ne'er so far true royalty pervert
From its fair course, to do my people hurt.
With how much ease, with how much confidence--
As if, superior to each grosser sense,
Reason had only, in full power array'd,
To manifest her will, and be obey'd--
Men make resolves, and pass into decrees
The motions of the mind! with how much ease,
In such resolves, doth passion make a flaw,
And bring to nothing what was raised to law!
In empire young, scarce warm on Gotham's throne,
The dangers and the sweets of power unknown,
Pleased, though I scarce know why, like some young child,
Whose little senses each new toy turns wild,
How do I hold sweet dalliance with my crown,
And wanton with dominion, how lay down,
Without the sanction of a precedent,
Rules of most large and absolute extent;
Rules, which from sense of public virtue spring,
And all at once commence a Patriot King!
But, for the day of trial is at hand,
And the whole fortunes of a mighty land
Are staked on me, and all their weal or woe
Must from my good or evil conduct flow,
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Churchill
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Tale XVI
THE CONFIDANT.
Anna was young and lovely--in her eye
The glance of beauty, in her cheek the dye:
Her shape was slender, and her features small,
But graceful, easy, unaffected all:
The liveliest tints her youthful face disclosed;
There beauty sparkled, and there health reposed;
For the pure blood that flush'd that rosy cheek
Spoke what the heart forbade the tongue to speak,
And told the feelings of that heart as well,
Nay, with more candour than the tongue could tell.
Though this fair lass had with the wealthy dwelt,
Yet like the damsel of the cot she felt;
And, at the distant hint or dark surmise,
The blood into the mantling cheek would rise.
Now Anna's station frequent terrors wrought,
In one whose looks were with such meaning fraught,
For on a Lady, as an humble friend,
It was her painful office to attend.
Her duties here were of the usual kind -
And some the body harass'd, some the mind:
Billets she wrote, and tender stories read,
To make the Lady sleepy in her bed;
She play'd at whist, but with inferior skill,
And heard the summons as a call to drill;
Music was ever pleasant till she play'd
At a request that no request convey'd;
The Lady's tales with anxious looks she heard,
For she must witness what her Friend averr'd;
The Lady's taste she must in all approve,
Hate whom she hated, whom she lov'd must love;
These, with the various duties of her place,
With care she studied, and perform'd with grace:
She veil'd her troubles in a mask of ease,
And show'd her pleasure was a power to please.
Such were the damsel's duties: she was poor -
Above a servant, but with service more:
Men on her face with careless freedom gaz'd,
Nor thought how painful was the glow they raised.
A wealthy few to gain her favour tried,
But not the favour of a grateful bride;
They spoke their purpose with an easy air,
That shamed and frighten'd the dependent fair;
Past time she view'd, the passing time to cheat,
But nothing found to make the present sweet:
With pensive soul she read life's future page,
And saw dependent, poor, repining age.
But who shall dare t'assert what years may
[...] Read more
poem by George Crabbe
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One night (Terzanelle)
One night I recalled
the picture of your majesty
where over me you sprawled
and the sweet memory
burns in me with energy and grace.
The picture of your majesty
revives the sweet embrace,
the treasured caresses
burns in me with energy and grace
and my eyes see your auburn tresses
and I still feel them against my cheek,
the treasured caresses
and kisses flowing over me as if from a creek,
tears of joy that gently came
and I still feel them against my cheek,
as a sign scrawled over my frame.
One night I recalled
tears of joy that gently came
where over me you sprawled.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Columbiad: Book I
The Argument
Natives of America appear in vision. Their manners and characters. Columbus demands the cause of the dissimilarity of men in different countries, Hesper replies, That the human body is composed of a due proportion of the elements suited to the place of its first formation; that these elements, differently proportioned, produce all the changes of health, sickness, growth and decay; and may likewise produce any other changes which occasion the diversity of men; that these elemental proportions are varied, not more by climate than temperature and other local circumstances; that the mind is likewise in a state of change, and will take its physical character from the body and from external objects: examples. Inquiry concerning the first peopling of America. View of Mexico. Its destruction by Cortez. View of Cusco and Quito, cities of Peru. Tradition of Capac and Oella, founders of the Peruvian empire. Columbus inquires into their real history. Hesper gives an account of their origin, and relates the stratagems they used in establishing that empire.
I sing the Mariner who first unfurl'd
An eastern banner o'er the western world,
And taught mankind where future empires lay
In these fair confines of descending day;
Who sway'd a moment, with vicarious power,
Iberia's sceptre on the new found shore,
Then saw the paths his virtuous steps had trod
Pursued by avarice and defiled with blood,
The tribes he foster'd with paternal toil
Snatch'd from his hand, and slaughter'd for their spoil.
Slaves, kings, adventurers, envious of his name,
Enjoy'd his labours and purloin'd his fame,
And gave the Viceroy, from his high seat hurl'd.
Chains for a crown, a prison for a world
Long overwhelm'd in woes, and sickening there,
He met the slow still march of black despair,
Sought the last refuge from his hopeless doom,
And wish'd from thankless men a peaceful tomb:
Till vision'd ages, opening on his eyes,
Cheer'd his sad soul, and bade new nations rise;
He saw the Atlantic heaven with light o'ercast,
And Freedom crown his glorious work at last.
Almighty Freedom! give my venturous song
The force, the charm that to thy voice belong;
Tis thine to shape my course, to light my way,
To nerve my country with the patriot lay,
To teach all men where all their interest lies,
How rulers may be just and nations wise:
Strong in thy strength I bend no suppliant knee,
Invoke no miracle, no Muse but thee.
Night held on old Castile her silent reign,
Her half orb'd moon declining to the main;
O'er Valladolid's regal turrets hazed
The drizzly fogs from dull Pisuerga raised;
Whose hovering sheets, along the welkin driven,
Thinn'd the pale stars, and shut the eye from heaven.
Cold-hearted Ferdinand his pillow prest,
Nor dream'd of those his mandates robb'd of rest,
Of him who gemm'd his crown, who stretch'd his reign
To realms that weigh'd the tenfold poise of Spain;
Who now beneath his tower indungeon'd lies,
Sweats the chill sod and breathes inclement skies.
[...] Read more
poem by Joel Barlow
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The Columbiad: Book VI
The Argument
British cruelty to American prisoners. Prison Ship. Retreat of Washington with the relics of his army, pursued by Howe. Washington recrossing the Delaware in the night, to surprise the British van, is opposed by uncommon obstacles. His success in this audacious enterprise lays the foundation of the American empire. A monument to be ere on the bank of the Delaware. Approach of Burgoyne, sailing up the St. Laurence with an army of Britons and various other nations. Indignant energy of the colonies, compared to that of Greece in opposing the invasion of Xerxes. Formation of an army of citizens, under the command of Gates. Review of the American and British armies, and of the savage tribes who join the British standard. Battle of Saratoga. Story of Lucinda. Second battle, and capture of Burgoyne and his army.
But of all tales that war's black annals hold,
The darkest, foulest still remains untold;
New modes of torture wait the shameful strife,
And Britain wantons in the waste of life.
Cold-blooded Cruelty, first fiend of hell,
Ah think no more with savage hordes to dwell;
Quit the Caribian tribes who eat their slain,
Fly that grim gang, the Inquisitors of Spain,
Boast not thy deeds in Moloch's shrines of old,
Leave Barbary's pirates to their blood-bought gold,
Let Holland steal her victims, force them o'er
To toils and death on Java's morbid shore;
Some cloak, some color all these crimes may plead;
Tis avarice, passion, blind religion's deed;
But Britons here, in this fraternal broil,
Grave, cool, deliberate in thy service toil.
Far from the nation's eye, whose nobler soul
Their wars would humanize, their pride control,
They lose the lessons that her laws impart,
And change the British for the brutal heart.
Fired by no passion, madden'd by no zeal,
No priest, no Plutus bids them not to feel;
Unpaid, gratuitous, on torture bent,
Their sport is death, their pastime to torment;
All other gods they scorn, but bow the knee,
And curb, well pleased, O Cruelty, to thee.
Come then, curst goddess, where thy votaries reign,
Inhale their incense from the land and main;
Come to Newyork, their conquering arms to greet,
Brood o'er their camp and breathe along their fleet;
The brother chiefs of Howe's illustrious name
Demand thy labors to complete their fame.
What shrieks of agony thy praises sound!
What grateless dungeons groan beneath the ground!
See the black Prison Ship's expanding womb
Impested thousands, quick and dead, entomb.
Barks after barks the captured seamen bear,
Transboard and lodge thy silent victims there;
A hundred scows, from all the neighboring shore,
Spread the dull sail and ply the constant oar,
Waft wrecks of armies from the well fought field,
And famisht garrisons who bravely yield;
[...] Read more
poem by Joel Barlow
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The Zenana
WHAT is there that the world hath not
Gathered in yon enchanted spot?
Where, pale, and with a languid eye,
The fair Sultana listlessly
Leans on her silken couch, and dreams
Of mountain airs, and mountain streams.
Sweet though the music float around,
It wants the old familiar sound;
And fragrant though the flowers are breathing,
From far and near together wreathing,
They are not those she used to wear,
Upon the midnight of her hair.—
She's very young, and childhood's days
With all their old remembered ways,
The empire of her heart contest
With love, that is so new a guest;
When blushing with her Murad near,
Half timid bliss, half sweetest fear,
E'en the beloved past is dim,
Past, present, future, merge in him.
But he, the warrior and the chief,
His hours of happiness are brief;
And he must leave Nadira's side
To woo and win a ruder bride;
Sought, sword in hand and spur on heel,
The fame, that weds with blood and steel.
And while from Delhi far away,
His youthful bride pines through the day,
Weary and sad: thus when again
He seeks to bind love's loosen'd chain;
He finds the tears are scarcely dry
Upon a cheek whose bloom is faded,
The very flush of victory
Is, like the brow he watches, shaded.
A thousand thoughts are at her heart,
His image paramount o'er all,
Yet not all his, the tears that start,
As mournful memories recall
Scenes of another home, which yet
That fond young heart can not forget.
She thinks upon that place of pride,
Which frowned upon the mountain's side;
While round it spread the ancient plain,
Her steps will never cross again.
And near those mighty temples stand,
The miracles of mortal hand,
[...] Read more
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Valentines Day
When the postman dont call on valentines day
And santa claus dont come on a christmas day
That umbrella wont work on a rainy day
Dont ask me, I already know
When they find you beached on the barrier reef
And the only pleasure treasured is in map relief
The choice is yours, sure, saint or thief
Dont ask me I already know
When they baked your cake in little slices,
Kept your eyes on rising prices,
Wound up winning booby prizes;
Im sure youd like to think you know what life is
Find destiny through magazines
Liplicking, unzipping
Harpers and queens
From here to eternity,
Without in-betweens,
Dont ask me, I already know
With your heart on parade and your heart on parole
I hope you find a sucker to buy that mink stole
School for scandal,
Guess whos enrolled?
So ask me, I already know
When they find you beached on the barrier reef
When the postman dont call on valentines day
When the only pleasure treasured is in map relief
When you dont tell the truth, thats the price you pay
When Im shaking a hand, Im clenching a fist
If you gave me a pound for the moments I missed
And I got dancing lessons for all the lips I shoulda kissed
Id be a millionaire
Id be a fred astaire
song performed by Abc
Added by Lucian Velea
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Devil Will Ride
Guess its bye-bye, baby bye-bye
Guess its bye-bye, baby bye-bye
If you will, devil may ride
Invitation makes you feel fly
If you will, devil may ride
Well, the invitation makes you feel fly
If you will, devil will ride
Well, the invitation makes you feel fly
Did you ever even try
When the inspirations set to run dry?
Well, everybody wants a good time
Yeah, and everybody wants a good time
Its a goodbye
World going mad out there
Throw away all of your treasured possessions
cause even the royal mail
Cant deliver us from what weve got into
Guess its bye-bye, baby bye-bye
Guess its bye-bye, baby bye-bye
You know it
Oh, so good I could just live for this lie
Oh, cause everybody wants to get by
Its too easy to like this living
Been taking it easy again
Its too easy to like this living
If you will, the devil will ride
But the invitation makes you feel fly
Did you ever even try
When the inspirations set to run dry?
Did you ever even writhe
When the conversation turned to a guy?
And everybody wants a good time
Yeah, and everybody wants a good time
Its a goodbye
World going mad out there
Throw away all of your treasured possessions
Not even the royal mail
Can deliver us from what weve got into
Guess its bye-bye, baby bye-bye
Guess its bye-bye, baby bye-bye
Devil will ride
If you will, devil will ride
If you will, devil will ride
If you will, devil will ride
(repeat to end)
song performed by Gomez
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These Are The Days
These are the days of the endless summer
These are the days, the time is now
There is no past, theres only future
Theres only here, theres only now
Oh your smiling face, your gracious presence
The fires of spring are kindling bright
Oh the radiant heart and the song of glory
Crying freedom in the night
These are the days by the sparkling river
His timely grace and our treasured find
This is the love of the one magician
Turned the water into wine
These are days of the endless dancing and the
Long walks on the summer night
These are the days of the true romancing
When Im holding you oh, so tight
These are the days by the sparkling river
His timely grace and our treasured find
This is the love of the one great magician
Turned water into wine
These are the days now that we must savour
And we must enjoy as we can
These are the days that will last forever
Youve got to hold them in your heart.
song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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Allalu Mo Wauleen (The Beggar’s Address to His Bag)
GOOD neighbors, dear, be cautious,
And covet no man’s pounds or pence.
Ambition’s greedy maw shun,
And tread the path of innocence!
Dread crooked ways and cheating,
And be not like those hounds of Hell,
Like prowling wolves awaiting,
Which once upon my footsteps fell.
An allalu mo wauleen,
My little bag I treasured it;
’Twas stuffed from string to sauleen,
A thousand times I measured it!
Should you ever reach Dungarvan,
That wretched hole of dole and sin,
Be on your sharpest guard, man,
Or the eyes out of your head they’ll pin.
Since I left sweet Tipperary,
They eased me of my cherished load,
And left me light and airy,
A poor dark man upon the road!
An allalu mo wauleen!
No hole, no stitch, no rent in it,
’Twas stuffed from string to sauleen,
My half-year’s rent was pent in it.
A gay gold ring unbroken,
A token to a fair young maid,
Which told of love unspoken,
To one whose hopes were long delayed,
A pair of woolen hoseen,
Close knitted, without rub or seam,
And a pound of weed well-chosen,
Such as smokers taste in dream!
An allalu mo wauleen,
Such a store I had in it;
’Twas stuffed from string to sauleen,
And nothing mean or bad in it!
Full oft in cosy corner
We’d sit beside a winter fire,
Nor envied prince or lord, or
To kingly rank did we aspire.
But twice they overhauled us,
The dark police of aspect dire,
Because they feared, Mo Chairdeas,
You held the dreaded Fenian fire!
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poem by Anonymous English
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Economy, A Rhapsody, Addressed to Young Poets
Insanis; omnes gelidis quaecunqne lacernis
Sunt tibi, Nasones Virgiliosque vides.
~Mart.
Imitation.
--Thou know'st not what thou say'st;
In garments that scarce fence them from the cold
Our Ovids and our Virgils you behold.
Part first.
To you, ye Bards! whose lavish breast requires
This monitory lay, the strains belong;
Nor think some miser vents his sapient saw,
Or some dull cit, unfeeling of the charms
That tempt profusion, sings; while friendly Zeal,
To guard from fatal ills the tribe he loves,
Inspires the meanest of the Muse's train!
Like you I loathe the grovelling progeny,
Whose wily arts, by creeping time matured,
Advance them high on Power's tyrannic throne,
To lord it there in gorgeous uselessness,
And spurn successless Worth that pines below!
See the rich churl, amid the social sons
Of wine and wit, regaling! hark, he joins
In the free jest delighted! seems to show
A meliorated heart! he laughs, he sings!
Songs of gay import, madrigals of glee,
And drunken anthems, set agape the board,
Like Demea, in the play, benign and mild,
And pouring forth benevolence of soul,
Till Micio wonder; or, in Shakspeare's line,
Obstreperous Silence, drowning Shallow's voice,
And startling Falstaff, and his mad compeers.
He owns 'tis prudence, ever and anon
To smooth his careful brow, to let his purse
Ope to a sixpence's diameter!
He likes our ways; he owns the ways of wit
Are ways of pleasance, and deserve regard.
True, we are dainty good society,
But what art thou? Alas! consider well,
Thou bane of social pleasure, know thyself:
Thy fell approach, like some invasive damp
Breathed through the pores of earth from Stygian caves
Destroys the lamp of mirth; the lamp which we,
Its flamens, boast to guard: we know not how,
But at thy sight the fading flame assumes
A ghastly blue, and in a stench expires.
True, thou seem'st changed; all sainted, all enskied:
The trembling tears that charge thy melting eyes
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poem by William Shenstone
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Statesmen
Rictameter
syllables
2-4-6-8-10
and reverse.
Treasured
and well-valued
are the men of culture
enlightened in the finer arts
their legislative Acts seldom falter.
Ministry with genuine hearts
faithfulness we honour
they are always
Treasured
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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