Marriage is a team effort. Both of us share that philosophy.
quote by Nick Lachey
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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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The Interpretation of Nature and
I.
MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.
II.
Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.
III.
Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.
IV.
Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.
V.
The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.
VI.
It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.
VII.
The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.
VIII.
Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.
IX.
The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.
X.
The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.
XI.
As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.
XII.
The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.
XIII.
[...] Read more
poem by Sir Francis Bacon
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The Marriage of Heaven and Hell
THE ARGUMENT
RINTRAH roars and shakes his
fires in the burdenM air,
Hungry clouds swag on the deep.
Once meek, and in a perilous path
The just man kept his course along
The Vale of Death.
Roses are planted where thorns grow,
And on the barren heath
Sing the honey bees.
Then the perilous path was planted,
And a river and a spring
On every cliff and tomb;
5
THE MARRIAGE OF
And on the bleached bones
Red clay brought forth:
Till the villain left the paths of ease
To walk in perilous paths, and drive
The just man into barren climes.
Now the sneaking serpent walks
In mild humility ;
And the just man rages in the wilds
Where Uons roam.
Rintrah roars and shakes his fires in
the burdened air,
Hungry clouds swag on the deep.
As a new heaven is begun, and it is
now thirty-three years since its advent,
the Eternal Hell revives. And lo!
Swedenborg is the angel sitting at
the tomb: his writings are the Unen
[...] Read more
poem by William Blake
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After Marriage
Before marriage she used to keep me handsomely like a
king on her lids; dancing them every now and again to
rejuvenate my overwhelmingly harried senses,
While after marriage she hardly opened her eyes; kept
sleeping like an untamed monster all day; despite the
most passionate of my appeals.
Before marriage she harbored me like the most prized
ring on her finger; scrubbing it umpteenth number of
times with the ointment of her sensuous love,
While after marriage she locked her ornament in her
dilapidated rusty safe; leaving me in the realms of
obsolete oblivion to contend with the dust and demons.
Before marriage she possessed me like a cherished rose
in vase of her heart; harnessing me with the crimson
blood that flowed profusely through her veins,
While after marriage she ruthlessly ripped me apart;
left me to decay with the stinking pile of garbage and
the sweeper blowing me in nonchalant disdain; with the
bristles of his threadbare broomstick.
Before marriage she chanted my name infinite times in
a single minute; refraining to commence any activity
without its irrefutably sacred presence on her lips,
While after marriage she stared like a complete
stranger into my innocuous eyes; austerely asking who
I indeed was with an unheard abuse.
Before marriage she offered me a place to sit; even if
that meant that she stood for mind-boggling hours on
the trot,
While after marriage she sat on top of me with her
battalion of fat friends; started to thunderously
laugh without the slightest of gasp or respite.
Before marriage she remained starved till the time I
didn’t eat; famishing her dainty persona to
unprecedented limits till the moment I fed her the
first morsel of food with my very own fingers,
While after marriage she finished breakfast; lunch;
dinner at a single shot; made me run for my life
before she decided to set her gigantic intentions on
my robust skin.
Before marriage she hummed mesmerizing tunes in my ear
before I went off to sleep; blessing my dreary
countenance with divinely reinvigoration and celestial
peace,
While after marriage she woke me the very next instant
[...] Read more
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Wife to Be (Petrarchan Sonnet)
I stroll along a fragrant country lane
With honeysuckle perfume on the air -
And feathered crooner's warble to revere -
Then cross a golden sea of flowing grain
In empathy - it seems to sense my pain
Of knowing all was done with my affair -
Her empty meaning now the solitaire
She cast away - betrothment all in vain.
But oceans team with many fish to catch
So I must up and hoist another sail
And seek the one that really waits for me,
For soon auspicious breezes will prevail
In guiding forth to find a truer match:
The one to take my hand as wife to be.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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At the Altar
Now to take away your life –
Devour your soul afresh upon
The birth of every dawning day
– The spawn of sun and earth –
As of the way Prometheus lost hepatic flesh –
He stole fire! You stole gropes
And f*cks of me; so suffer thee!
Oh yes, perspire! Drizzle down the beads
Upon that crimson, blotchy skin –
I see the once cocksure pose, my man,
Is wearing terribly thin.
Indeed, an absence of repose
Discloses thumping in your chest –
Irregularly rhythmic – like the humping
(When you thought I was a body to molest) .
No more! my little man, for I shall wrest
The living essence from your
Paling, quivering form! –
You’ve had your gentle calm
Before the rumblings of the storm!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The word “Divorce” never exists
Divorce … Divorce…
Think that there is such thing never exist
-o-
Look at the girl twice before you choose
Think twice before you put the marriage ring
Once Marriage is done, it is forever.
Marriage is between two hearts,
If you marry for anything else,
There is no guarantee that it will stand
Marry for money, money can be lost
Marry for beauty, beauty can be lost
Marry for health, health can be lost
Marry for love, love can’t be lost
Look at the eyes and feel the heart
Love is there for you always
-o-
Marriage doesn’t mean, it stands for ever
Marriage is planting the love seed
Plant the love seed, deep enough in heart
Manure with smiles and pore more love
Marriage doesn’t mean, it stands for ever
Trust each other more than self
Stand for each more than self
Keep the self out and live for spouse
Marriage is place to work together
Work heard to keep it fruitful
Pray heard to keep it safe
Love heard to make it more romantic
Spouse and Kids are God’s gifts
God entrusted us to take care of them,
The way he is taking care of us.
-o-
Divorce is the evil
It killed the souls and hearts
Divorce … Divorce …
Don’t think of it.
There is nobody who gained out of it
Divorce … Divorce…
Think that there is such thing never exist
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poem by Bhavani Polimetla
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Into how many parts would you divide the child after Divorce?
You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many insane parts would you divide your new-born child’s eternal happiness; after your treacherously vindictive divorce?
You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many heartless parts would you divide your new-born child’s invincible freedom; after your venomously unbearable divorce?
You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many ribald parts would you divide your new-born child’s unsurpassable creativity; after your lethally unceremonious divorce?
You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many salacious parts would you divide your new-born child’s majestic destiny; after your lecherously ignominious divorce?
You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many emotionless parts would you divide your new-born child’s triumphant spirit; after your contemptuously debasing divorce?
You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many terrorizing parts would you divide your new-born child’s unbridled fantasies; after your abhorrently cadaverous divorce?
You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many excruciating parts would you divide your new-born child’s humanitarian blood; after your cold-bloodedly cannibalistic divorce?
You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many tyrannized parts would you divide your new-born child’s unconquerable artistry; after your violently besmirching divorce?
You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many reproachful parts would you divide your new-born child’s redolent playfulness; after your despicably devastating divorce?
You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many sacrilegious parts would you divide your new-born child’s impregnable mischief; after your sadistically bemoaning divorce?
You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many wanton parts would you divide your new-born child’s impeccable integrity; after your hedonistically carnivorous divorce?
You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many ghoulish parts would you divide your new-born child’s limitless fertility; after your mindlessly malicious divorce?
You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many diabolical parts would you divide your new- born child’s infallible innocence; after your unforgivably truculent divorce?
You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many vengeful parts would you divide your new-born child’s uninhibited cries; after your preposterously bigoted divorce?
You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many criminal parts would you divide your new-born child’s princely silkenness; after your tempestuously confounding divorce?
You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many satanic parts would you divide your new-born child’s tiny brain; after your barbarously ungainly divorce?
You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many sadistic parts would you divide your new-born child’s unlimited curiosity; after your egregiously dastardly divorce?
You might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but into how many carnivorous parts would you divide your new-born child’s parental longing; after your inanely decrepit divorce?
And you might legally divide each other from the bonds of immortal marriage; but tell me; into how many goddamned parts would you divide your new-born child’s immortal love; after your devilishly vituperative divorce?
©®copyright-2005, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Unmarried
Unmarried; when we kissed; we felt the waves of untamed passion rise to the ultimate crescendo of fulfillment; whilst when after Marriage; we felt it to be just routinely boring ritual to be inevitably done; just to spuriously appease each other,
Unmarried; when we listened to each other; our eyes interlocked for hours immemorial as we became oblivious to every other sound in the atmosphere; whilst after Marriage; the words seemed to irately pound like a billion unwashed boulders; upon the extremely tempestuous chords of our eardrums,
Unmarried; when we philandered together; we almost seemed to unanimously admire and appreciate each natural creation of the Lord Almighty; whilst after Marriage; we sat taut and haughty in stony silence; even as the most majestically virile sceneries and greeneries passed by,
Unmarried; when we confronted any problem; both of us earnestly put in our the last droplet of our sweat to emerge unitedly victorious; whilst when after Marriage; each of us left it wholesomely on the other to get out of the inexplicable disaster,
Unmarried; when we sipped wine; we cheered a toast umpteenth number of times in the sensuous wilderness of the night; whilst after Marriage; each of us chimed our glasses just once for the sake of the sanctimonious society; and that too with profound abhorrence lingering in our eyes; and time and again casting sneering glances at the bottle price,
Unmarried; when we slept; we were aware and fondly traced even the tiniest creak of our bodies with our uninhibitedly wandering fingers; whilst after marriage we indifferently slept poles apart; thunderously snoring till eternity; even as either one of us was being crucified by the swords of diabolical hell,
Unmarried; when we sat to eat supper; each one of us altruistically waited for marathon moments before the other devoured to his/her hearts content; whilst after marriage both of us made a barbarous beeline for the singleton dish; at times ending with raw gashes of unsavory blood; on our profusely scratched hands and face,
Unmarried; when we wrote each others names; we felt the most pricelessly blessed organisms alive perpetually possessing each other in our hearts; whilst after marriage we never disclosed it to anyone that we even had a lifepartner; specially if it was someone of the opposite sex,
Unmarried; when we swam in the choppy ocean; even the most infinitesimal vein of our body was so perennially entwined that it was impossible to separate us even in the fiercest of storm; whilst after marriage we deliberately used each others heads as a lifeboat; drowning the other in our attempt to stay triumphantly afloat and selfishly alive,
Unmarried; when we awoke; the very first thing that we did in the morning was to bow down to each other’s feet as we found our ultimate liberator in each of ourself; whilst after marriage we strangulated each other’s senses for uncannily waking up early in the morning; and hideously disrupting the heavenliness of bountiful sleep,
Unmarried; when we were wounded; we compassionately ran every contour of our fervent lips to those parts which hurt till there was not the tiniest of pain; whilst after marriage all that we could hedonistically muster; was indigenous salt to apply on the agonizingly crimson streams of blood,
Unmarried; when we laughed; it was as if to trace and assimilate even the most insouciant bit of ecstasy hidden in our unconscious veins; whilst after marriage we invidiously chortled and exploited each other’s idiosyncrasies; even at the cost of an infinite tears which unstoppably flowed,
Unmarried; when we sketched; all we could capture on our barren canvases was every conceivable shade of our passionately exuberant silhouettes; whilst after marriage if ever we used our drawing pens; then it was to spew blood of intolerance and unfathomable hatred,
Unmarried; when we were lost; we rediscovered and reborn each other in our very own unassailably redolent breaths; whilst after marriage we heartlessly abandoned each other; leaping at the beams of hope who came searching us; and at the first opportunity,
Unmarried; when we sobbed for our loved ones; the innermost realms of our souls united for an infinite lifetimes to share our grief and ameliorate ourselves to the highest epitome of the Sun; whilst after marriage we sadistically used each other’s tears to bathe; incase the overhead tank was empty,
Unmarried; when we created something; we mutually congratulated each other till the aisles of endless infinity whether there came or not; the tiniest of soul from the outside world; whilst after marriage the same creation became the ultimate reason in our route to divorce,
Unmarried; when we saw suffering on the streets; we selflessly extricated even the last ounce of blood from our veins; endeavoring our best to serve humanity; whilst after marriage we greedily amassed our own wealth; career; identity and fame; in order to royally exist in separate palaces of gold soaked in innocent blood,
Unmarried; when we met after office; we embraced each other with so much passion and intensity that the most gigantic of structures and creation around humbly tumbled to our toes; whilst after marriage we rapaciously preferred to frequent the prostitutes dwelling to placate our heinous desires; as well as stay forever away from our robotically boring faces,
Therefore it is my nimble plea to you O! Omnipresent Lord; to let our love forever immortalize into a cloud of unbreakable compassion; to let our love forever become the ultimate guiding beacon for every other true lover born; and thus for all this to consolidate into a timeless reality; leave us best as UNMARRIED…
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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VII. Pompilia
I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.
All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.
Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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poem by Caasder Fronds
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On Marriage
Pessimistic views: :
Marriage is a gamble!
Marriage is a punishment;
Marriage is an evil that
Most can’t but accept.
Optimistic views:
Marriage is a gift of God;
Marriage is a blessing;
Marriage is an enjoyment,
We make the best of it.
Truths:
Marriage is so wonderful;
Marriage is so fulfilling;
Marriage is so wholesome;
Marriage is an endless love,
More priceless than all wealth!
Marriage is a way of life;
Marriage is so natural;
Marriage is the better way,
For two, to reach Heaven.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-7-2006
poem by John Celes
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V. Count Guido Franceschini
Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Fourth Book
THEY met still sooner. 'Twas a year from thence
When Lucy Gresham, the sick semptress girl,
Who sewed by Marian's chair so still and quick,
And leant her head upon the back to cough
More freely when, the mistress turning round,
The others took occasion to laugh out,–
Gave up a last. Among the workers, spoke
A bold girl with black eyebrows and red lips,–
'You know the news? Who's dying, do you think?
Our Lucy Gresham. I expected it
As little as Nell Hart's wedding. Blush not, Nell,
Thy curls be red enough without thy cheeks;
And, some day, there'll be found a man to dote
On red curls.–Lucy Gresham swooned last night,
Dropped sudden in the street while going home;
And now the baker says, who took her up
And laid her by her grandmother in bed,
He'll give her a week to die in. Pass the silk.
Let's hope he gave her a loaf too, within reach,
For otherwise they'll starve before they die,
That funny pair of bedfellows! Miss Bell,
I'll thank you for the scissors. The old crone
Is paralytic–that's the reason why
Our Lucy's thread went faster than her breath,
Which went too quick, we all know. Marian Erle!
Why, Marian Erle, you're not the fool to cry?
Your tears spoil Lady Waldemar's new dress,
You piece of pity!'
Marian rose up straight,
And, breaking through the talk and through the work,
Went outward, in the face of their surprise,
To Lucy's home, to nurse her back to life
Or down to death. She knew by such an act,
All place and grace were forfeit in the house,
Whose mistress would supply the missing hand
With necessary, not inhuman haste,
And take no blame. But pity, too, had dues:
She could not leave a solitary soul
To founder in the dark, while she sate still
And lavished stitches on a lady's hem
As if no other work were paramount.
'Why, God,' thought Marian, 'has a missing hand
This moment; Lucy wants a drink, perhaps.
Let others miss me! never miss me, God!'
So Marian sat by Lucy's bed, content
With duty, and was strong, for recompense,
To hold the lamp of human love arm-high
To catch the death-strained eyes and comfort them,
Until the angels, on the luminous side
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poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
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Rubberneckin
(words & music by jones - warren)
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
If your rubberneckin baby well thats all right with me
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Its called rubberneckin baby but thats all right with me
Some people say Im wasting time yeh, but they dont really know
I like what I see I see what I like yeh, it gives me such a glow
First thing in the morning, last thing at night
I look, stare everywhere and see everything inside
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
If your rubberneckin baby well thats all right with me
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Its called rubberneckin baby but thats all right with me
Some people say Im wasting time yeh, but they dont really know
I like what I see I see what I like yeh, it gives me such a glow
Sittin on the back porch all by myself
Along came mary jane with somebody else
Well, stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Its called rubberneckin baby but thats all right with me
Some people say Im wasting time yeh, but I dont really care
I like what I see, I see what I like yeh, it gives me such a glow
Sittin on the back porch all by myself
Along came mary jane with somebody else
Well, stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Its called rubberneckin baby but thats all right with me
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Stop
song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
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Rubberneckin (Original)
Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
If your rubberneckin' baby well that's all right with me
Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
It's called rubberneckin' baby but that's all right with me
Some people say I'm wasting time yeh, but they don't really know
I like what I see I see what I like yeh, it gives me such a glow
First thing in the morning, last thing at night
I look, stare everywhere and see everything inside
Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
If your rubberneckin' baby well that's all right with me
Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
It's called rubberneckin' baby but that's all right with me
Some people say I'm wasting time yeh, but they don't really know
I like what I see I see what I like yeh, it gives me such a glow
Sittin' on the back porch all by myself
Along came Mary Jane with somebody else
Well, stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
It's called rubberneckin' baby but that's all right with me
Some people say I'm wasting time yeh, but I don't really care
I like what I see, I see what I like yeh, it gives me such a glow
Sittin' on the back porch all by myself
Along came Mary Jane with somebody else
Well, stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
It's called rubberneckin' baby but that's all right with me
Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
Stop
song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
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Canto the Fifteenth
I
Ah! -- What should follow slips from my reflection;
Whatever follows ne'ertheless may be
As à-propos of hope or retrospection,
As though the lurking thought had follow'd free.
All present life is but an interjection,
An "Oh!" or "Ah!" of joy or misery,
Or a "Ha! ha!" or "Bah!" -- a yawn, or "Pooh!"
Of which perhaps the latter is most true.
II
But, more or less, the whole's a syncopé
Or a singultus -- emblems of emotion,
The grand antithesis to great ennui,
Wherewith we break our bubbles on the ocean, --
That watery outline of eternity,
Or miniature at least, as is my notion,
Which ministers unto the soul's delight,
In seeing matters which are out of sight.
III
But all are better than the sigh supprest,
Corroding in the cavern of the heart,
Making the countenance a masque of rest,
And turning human nature to an art.
Few men dare show their thoughts of worst or best;
Dissimulation always sets apart
A corner for herself; and therefore fiction
Is that which passes with least contradiction.
IV
Ah! who can tell? Or rather, who can not
Remember, without telling, passion's errors?
The drainer of oblivion, even the sot,
Hath got blue devils for his morning mirrors:
What though on Lethe's stream he seem to float,
He cannot sink his tremors or his terrors;
The ruby glass that shakes within his hand
Leaves a sad sediment of Time's worst sand.
V
And as for love -- O love! -- We will proceed.
The Lady Adeline Amundeville,
A pretty name as one would wish to read,
Must perch harmonious on my tuneful quill.
There's music in the sighing of a reed;
There's music in the gushing of a rill;
There's music in all things, if men had ears:
Their earth is but an echo of the spheres.
[...] Read more
poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Don Juan: Canto The Fifteenth
Ah!--What should follow slips from my reflection;
Whatever follows ne'ertheless may be
As à-propos of hope or retrospection,
As though the lurking thought had follow'd free.
All present life is but an interjection,
An 'Oh!' or 'Ah!' of joy or misery,
Or a 'Ha! ha!' or 'Bah!'-- a yawn, or 'Pooh!'
Of which perhaps the latter is most true.
But, more or less, the whole's a syncope
Or a singultus - emblems of emotion,
The grand antithesis to great ennui,
Wherewith we break our bubbles on the ocean,--
That watery outline of eternity,
Or miniature at least, as is my notion,
Which ministers unto the soul's delight,
In seeing matters which are out of sight.
But all are better than the sigh supprest,
Corroding in the cavern of the heart,
Making the countenance a masque of rest,
And turning human nature to an art.
Few men dare show their thoughts of worst or best;
Dissimulation always sets apart
A corner for herself; and therefore fiction
Is that which passes with least contradiction.
Ah! who can tell? Or rather, who can not
Remember, without telling, passion's errors?
The drainer of oblivion, even the sot,
Hath got blue devils for his morning mirrors:
What though on Lethe's stream he seem to float,
He cannot sink his tremors or his terrors;
The ruby glass that shakes within his hand
Leaves a sad sediment of Time's worst sand.
And as for love--O love!--We will proceed.
The Lady Adeline Amundeville,
A pretty name as one would wish to read,
Must perch harmonious on my tuneful quill.
There's music in the sighing of a reed;
There's music in the gushing of a rill;
There's music in all things, if men had ears:
Their earth is but an echo of the spheres.
The Lady Adeline, right honourable;
And honour'd, ran a risk of growing less so;
For few of the soft sex are very stable
In their resolves--alas! that I should say so!
They differ as wine differs from its label,
[...] Read more
poem by Byron
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!Couldn't connect to MySQL
Twin State
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[...] Read more
poem by Caasder Fronds
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Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto I
THE ARGUMENT
The Knight and Squire resolve, at once,
The one the other to renounce.
They both approach the Lady's Bower;
The Squire t'inform, the Knight to woo her.
She treats them with a Masquerade,
By Furies and Hobgoblins made;
From which the Squire conveys the Knight,
And steals him from himself, by Night.
'Tis true, no lover has that pow'r
T' enforce a desperate amour,
As he that has two strings t' his bow,
And burns for love and money too;
For then he's brave and resolute,
Disdains to render in his suit,
Has all his flames and raptures double,
And hangs or drowns with half the trouble,
While those who sillily pursue,
The simple, downright way, and true,
Make as unlucky applications,
And steer against the stream their passions.
Some forge their mistresses of stars,
And when the ladies prove averse,
And more untoward to be won
Than by CALIGULA the Moon,
Cry out upon the stars, for doing
Ill offices to cross their wooing;
When only by themselves they're hindred,
For trusting those they made her kindred;
And still, the harsher and hide-bounder
The damsels prove, become the fonder.
For what mad lover ever dy'd
To gain a soft and gentle bride?
Or for a lady tender-hearted,
In purling streams or hemp departed?
Leap'd headlong int' Elysium,
Through th' windows of a dazzling room?
But for some cross, ill-natur'd dame,
The am'rous fly burnt in his flame.
This to the Knight could be no news,
With all mankind so much in use;
Who therefore took the wiser course,
To make the most of his amours,
Resolv'd to try all sorts of ways,
As follows in due time and place
No sooner was the bloody fight,
Between the Wizard, and the Knight,
[...] Read more
poem by Samuel Butler
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