If there is one creature that represents my essence, it's butterflies.
quote by Patricia Velasquez
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Origins
The plaster continues to crumble
It's because of the light!
That blasted light!
I see the floors are sinking in
In the derelict of light.
I am a creature of comfort
Because of the light!
Oh, that blasted light!
Lavish me in the finest of things
Without the curse of the light.
The horror within is now revealed
Why, because of the light.
Oh, that blasted light!
And with the darkness, my beauty is healed.
Because of the light, oh the light.
Do you find I have cause to lie?
Yes, I do.
It's because of the light!
For all that my soul is suffering
And I am a creature of night.
I am a creature of comfort
I am a creature of fright
I'm a creature of sensual pleasure
I'm a creature with just one little bite.
I am a creature of legend
I am a creature of night
I'm a creature that stalks in the shadows
I'm a creature that hides from the light.
I am a creature unwanted
I am a creature with might
I'm a creature seduced by the hunger
I'm a creature of mischief and rife.
I am a creature so sadly
I am a creature, that's right
I'm a creature without soul
As low as it goes
I'm the creature to end your life
poem by Katherine Clark
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Origins
The plaster continues to crumble
It's because of the light!
That blasted light!
I see the floors are sinking in
In the derelict of light.
I am a creature of comfort
Because of the light!
Oh, that blasted light!
Lavish me in the finest of things
Without the curse of the light.
The horror within is now revealed
Why, because of the light.
Oh, that blasted light!
And with the darkness, my beauty is healed.
Because of the light, oh the light.
Do you find I have cause to lie?
Yes, I do.
It's because of the light!
For all that my soul is suffering
And I am a creature of night.
I am a creature of comfort
I am a creature of fright
I'm a creature of sensual pleasure
I'm a creature with just one little bite.
I am a creature of legend
I am a creature of night
I'm a creature that stalks in the shadows
I'm a creature that hides from the light.
I am a creature unwanted
I am a creature with might
I'm a creature seduced by the hunger
I'm a creature of mischief and rife.
I am a creature so sadly
I am a creature, that's right
I'm a creature without soul
As low as it goes
I'm the creature to end your life
poem by Maura Herboldsheimer
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Butterflies For Breakfast? (Life Poem)
Butterflies before you sit the final exam,
Butterflies before you go for a job interview,
Butterflies before you ask her out on a date,
Butterflies before you kiss her for the first time,
Butterflies before you propose two will be one,
Butterflies before you meet her family,
Butterflies before you see her all in white,
Butterflies before you make that big speech,
Butterflies before you see that your baby is OK,
Butterflies before you get news from the doctor,
Butterflies before you lose your job again,
Butterflies before you face any little crisis,
But -
No butterflies for breakfast.
poem by Ian Beckett
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Essence of essence is the birth of the weaker sex
Essence of essence is the birth of the weaker sex,
For her strength alone can please the mighty hero!
What's the use of this manliness, friend,
When it is of no use to the lord at all?
Essence of essence is the birth of the weaker sex!
A man might attain the ultimate release,
If he sticks to the path of virtue,
But to indulge in the scrumptious joys of pretended anger
And the lord pleading to make up and other such games,
You simply have to be a woman!
Essence of essence is the birth of the weaker sex!
For her strength can please the mighty hero!
Even the gods like Indra and the great sages
Revere the very dust of gopis' feet,
Considering themselves lesser than the gopis
As they find their manhood insipid!
Essence of essence the birth of the weaker sex,
For her strength can please the mighty hero!
Woman, the treasure trove of fortune
Experiences and enjoys all day and night
The very nectar, the Vedas and the Scriptures
Struggle to express!
Essence of essence is the birth of the weaker sex!
Let my dreams come true
My dark one, my lifter of the mountain, life of my life!
For just like the master dragging the meek beast
The leash of love draws Narsinh!
Essence of essence is the birth of the weaker sex,
For her strength can please the mighty hero!
poem by Narsinh Mehta
Added by Poetry Lover
1 comment - Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Butterflies
I would spin for you a blanket
Out of gold and silver threads
I would let my gentle bosom
Be a pillow for your head
Id caress your perfect body
On a rosy bed at night
Play you love songs on a golden harp
And sing you butterflies
In a diamond-studded chalice
On an emerald-plated tray
I would bring to you sweet nectar
And gifts of bright array
I would paint for you a castle
In a blue and yellow sky
Paint you happy ever after
And paint you butterflies
Chorus:
Butterflies, my heart flutters with the notion
I get high on the wings of sweet emotion
Darling i, I just think of you and I get butterflies
I get close to you and I get butterflies
If only I were magic
I would make the wishes true
I would wave a magic wand
And be in paradise with you
But Im just a girl that loves you
I will love you all my life
But I do have a magic feeling
And it gives me butterflies
Chorus:
Butterflies, my heart flutters with the notion
I get high on the wings of sweet emotion
Darling i, I just think of you and I get butterflies
We should fly away together, you and i
Off to paradise forever, I get high
I get close to you and I get butterflies
I think of you and I get butterflies
Fade:
I will spin for you a blanket out of gold and silver threads
If only I were magic, I would make the wishes true
I would wave a magic wand and be in paradise with you
song performed by Dolly Parton
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
A silente creature
The silent creature
populates the human
minds
A silent creature
is invisible but
reliable and fizzy
This creature is
silent because she
needs to be
understood, refined and
she wants a
lot of aids
A silent creature
is an explosion
of life
To be a
silent creature is
a fresh and
wonderful sensation
A silent creature
is an angelical
messenger
She is a
happy, ancient, colorful
and vital imagine
A silent creature
tells many different
and interesting stories
Sometimes the silent
creature deceives to
defeat the racism
A silent creature
is defenseless from
the not curious
A silent creature
is a desirable
but desperate and
suspicious person
A silent creature
can be an
alter ego
She is a
guide of dignity
and human values
poem by Laura arwen
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Scripture of the Golden Eternity
1
Did I create that sky? Yes, for, if it was anything other than a conception in my mind I wouldnt have said 'Sky'-That is why I am the golden eternity. There are not two of us here, reader and writer, but one, one golden eternity, One-Which-It-Is, That-Which- Everything-Is.
2
The awakened Buddha to show the way, the chosen Messiah to die in the degradation of sentience, is the golden eternity. One that is what is, the golden eternity, or, God, or, Tathagata-the name. The Named One. The human God. Sentient Godhood. Animate Divine. The Deified One. The Verified One. The Free One. The Liberator. The Still One. The settled One. The Established One. Golden Eternity. All is Well. The Empty One. The Ready One. The Quitter. The Sitter. The Justified One. The Happy One.
3
That sky, if it was anything other than an illusion of my mortal mind I wouldnt have said 'that sky.' Thus I made that sky, I am the golden eternity. I am Mortal Golden Eternity.
4
I was awakened to show the way, chosen to die in the degradation of life, because I am Mortal Golden Eternity.
5
I am the golden eternity in mortal animate form.
6
Strictly speaking, there is no me, because all is emptiness. I am empty, I am non-existent. All is bliss.
7
This truth law has no more reality than the world.
8
You are the golden eternity because there is no me and no you, only one golden eternity.
9
The Realizer. Entertain no imaginations whatever, for the thing is a no-thing. Knowing this then is Human Godhood.
10
This world is the movie of what everything is, it is one movie, made of the same stuff throughout, belonging to nobody, which is what everything is.
11
If we were not all the golden eternity we wouldnt be here. Because we are here we cant help being pure. To tell man to be pure on account of the punishing angel that punishes the bad and the rewarding angel that rewards the good would be like telling the water 'Be Wet'-Never the less, all things depend on supreme reality, which is already established as the record of Karma earned-fate.
12
God is not outside us but is just us, the living and the dead, the never-lived and never-died. That we should learn it only now, is supreme reality, it was written a long time ago in the archives of universal mind, it is already done, there's no more to do.
13
This is the knowledge that sees the golden eternity in all things, which is us, you, me, and which is no longer us, you, me.
14
What name shall we give it which hath no name, the common eternal matter of the mind? If we were to call it essence, some might think it meant perfume, or gold, or honey. It is not even mind. It is not even discussible, groupable into words; it is not even endless, in fact it is not even mysterious or inscrutably inexplicable; it is what is; it is that; it is this. We could easily call the golden eternity 'This.' But 'what's in a name?' asked Shakespeare. The golden eternity by another name would be as sweet. A Tathagata, a God, a Buddha by another name, an Allah, a Sri Krishna, a Coyote, a Brahma, a Mazda, a Messiah, an Amida, an Aremedeia, a Maitreya, a Palalakonuh, 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 would be as sweet. The golden eternity is X, the golden eternity is A, the golden eternity is /\, the golden eternity is O, the golden eternity is [ ], the golden eternity is t-h-e-g-o-l-d-e-n-e-t-e-r- n-i-t-y. In the beginning was the word; before the beginning, in the beginningless infinite neverendingness, was the essence. Both the word 'god' and the essence of the word, are emptiness. The form of emptiness which is emptiness having taken the form of form, is what you see and hear and feel right now, and what you taste and smell and think as you read this. Wait awhile, close your eyes, let your breathing stop three seconds or so, listen to the inside silence in the womb of the world, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, re-recognize the bliss you forgot, the emptiness and essence and ecstasy of ever having been and ever to be the golden eternity. This is the lesson you forgot.
15
The lesson was taught long ago in the other world systems that have naturally changed into the empty and awake, and are here now smiling in our smile and scowling in our scowl. It is only like the golden eternity pretending to be smiling and scowling to itself; like a ripple on the smooth ocean of knowing. The fate of humanity is to vanish into the golden eternity, return pouring into its hands which are not hands. The navel shall receive, invert, and take back what'd issued forth; the ring of flesh shall close; the personalities of long dead heroes are blank dirt.
16
The point is we're waiting, not how comfortable we are while waiting. Paleolithic man waited by caves for the realization of why he was there, and hunted; modern men wait in beautified homes and try to forget death and birth. We're waiting for the realization that this is the golden eternity.
17
It came on time.
[...] Read more
poem by Jack Kerouac
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Butterfiles
VERSE
Swallow purple terror candy
Don't forget to breathe
Sickened by the wanting
And drowning from the need
This dichromatic vision
Of one who does not care
To sipping cocktail sedatives
Two months to hide somewhere
CHORUS
Butterflies, Butterflies
Cut the stomach out and hand it over
Butterflies, Butterflies
My heart will be the bridge that-
you walk over
VERSE
The wolf has caught the chicken
And now I feel unsteady
Emotions on the blink again
So kick me when you're ready
Here lies a violet coffin
The death of my control
Along with all my skeletons
They put them in the hole
VERSE
Sickened by the notion
I give myself again
Choking on the bullet, the gun-
thats found a friend
So raise your glass to sorrow
And drink to all the pain
Tie a silver ribbon around
The pieces that remain
CHORUS
Butterflies, Butterflies
Cut the stomach out and hand it over
Butterflies, Butterflies
My heart will be the bridge that-
you walk over
song performed by Natalie Imbruglia
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Seventh Book
'THE woman's motive? shall we daub ourselves
With finding roots for nettles? 'tis soft clay
And easily explored. She had the means,
The moneys, by the lady's liberal grace,
In trust for that Australian scheme and me,
Which so, that she might clutch with both her hands,
And chink to her naughty uses undisturbed,
She served me (after all it was not strange,;
'Twas only what my mother would have done)
A motherly, unmerciful, good turn.
'Well, after. There are nettles everywhere,
But smooth green grasses are more common still;
The blue of heaven is larger than the cloud;
A miller's wife at Clichy took me in
And spent her pity on me,–made me calm
And merely very reasonably sad.
She found me a servant's place in Paris where
I tried to take the cast-off life again,
And stood as quiet as a beaten ass
Who, having fallen through overloads, stands up
To let them charge him with another pack.
'A few months, so. My mistress, young and light,
Was easy with me, less for kindness than
Because she led, herself, an easy time
Betwixt her lover and her looking-glass,
Scarce knowing which way she was praised the most.
She felt so pretty and so pleased all day
She could not take the trouble to be cross,
But sometimes, as I stooped to tie her shoe,
Would tap me softly with her slender foot
Still restless with the last night's dancing in't,
And say 'Fie, pale-face! are you English girls
'All grave and silent? mass-book still, and Lent?
'And first-communion colours on your cheeks,
'Worn past the time for't? little fool, be gay!'
At which she vanished, like a fairy, through
A gap of silver laughter.
'Came an hour
When all went otherwise. She did not speak,
But clenched her brows, and clipped me with her eyes
As if a viper with a pair of tongs,
Too far for any touch, yet near enough
To view the writhing creature,–then at last,
'Stand still there, in the holy Virgin's name,
'Thou Marian; thou'rt no reputable girl,
'Although sufficient dull for twenty saints!
'I think thou mock'st me and my house,' she said;
'Confess thou'lt be a mother in a month,
[...] Read more
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Loves of the Angels
'Twas when the world was in its prime,
When the fresh stars had just begun
Their race of glory and young Time
Told his first birth-days by the sun;
When in the light of Nature's dawn
Rejoicing, men and angels met
On the high hill and sunny lawn,-
Ere sorrow came or Sin had drawn
'Twixt man and heaven her curtain yet!
When earth lay nearer to the skies
Than in these days of crime and woe,
And mortals saw without surprise
In the mid-air angelic eyes
Gazing upon this world below.
Alas! that Passion should profane
Even then the morning of the earth!
That, sadder still, the fatal stain
Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth-
And that from Woman's love should fall
So dark a stain, most sad of all!
One evening, in that primal hour,
On a hill's side where hung the ray
Of sunset brightening rill and bower,
Three noble youths conversing lay;
And, as they lookt from time to time
To the far sky where Daylight furled
His radiant wing, their brows sublime
Bespoke them of that distant world-
Spirits who once in brotherhood
Of faith and bliss near ALLA stood,
And o'er whose cheeks full oft had blown
The wind that breathes from ALLA'S throne,
Creatures of light such as still play,
Like motes in sunshine, round the Lord,
And thro' their infinite array
Transmit each moment, night and day,
The echo of His luminous word!
Of Heaven they spoke and, still more oft,
Of the bright eyes that charmed them thence;
Till yielding gradual to the soft
And balmy evening's influence-
The silent breathing of the flowers-
The melting light that beamed above,
As on their first, fond, erring hours,-
Each told the story of his love,
The history of that hour unblest,
When like a bird from its high nest
[...] Read more
poem by Thomas Moore
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The White Doe Of Rylstone, Or, The Fate Of The Nortons - Canto Seventh
'Powers there are
That touch each other to the quick--in modes
Which the gross world no sense hath to perceive,
No soul to dream of.'
THOU Spirit, whose angelic hand
Was to the harp a strong command,
Called the submissive strings to wake
In glory for this Maiden's sake,
Say, Spirit! whither hath she fled
To hide her poor afflicted head?
What mighty forest in its gloom
Enfolds her?--is a rifted tomb
Within the wilderness her seat?
Some island which the wild waves beat--
Is that the Sufferer's last retreat?
Or some aspiring rock, that shrouds
Its perilous front in mists and clouds?
High-climbing rock, low sunless dale,
Sea, desert, what do these avail?
Oh take her anguish and her fears
Into a deep recess of years!
'Tis done;--despoil and desolation
O'er Rylstone's fair domain have blown;
Pools, terraces, and walks are sown
With weeds; the bowers are overthrown,
Or have given way to slow mutation,
While, in their ancient habitation
The Norton name hath been unknown.
The lordly Mansion of its pride
Is stripped; the ravage hath spread wide
Through park and field, a perishing
That mocks the gladness of the Spring!
And, with this silent gloom agreeing,
Appears a joyless human Being,
Of aspect such as if the waste
Were under her dominion placed.
Upon a primrose bank, her throne
Of quietness, she sits alone;
Among the ruins of a wood,
Erewhile a covert bright and green,
And where full many a brave tree stood,
That used to spread its boughs, and ring
With the sweet bird's carolling.
Behold her, like a virgin Queen,
Neglecting in imperial state
These outward images of fate,
And carrying inward a serene
And perfect sway, through many a thought
Of chance and change, that hath been brought
[...] Read more
poem by William Wordsworth
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Sixth Book
THE English have a scornful insular way
Of calling the French light. The levity
Is in the judgment only, which yet stands;
For say a foolish thing but oft enough,
(And here's the secret of a hundred creeds,–
Men get opinions as boys learn to spell,
By re-iteration chiefly) the same thing
Shall pass at least for absolutely wise,
And not with fools exclusively. And so,
We say the French are light, as if we said
The cat mews, or the milch-cow gives us milk:
Say rather, cats are milked, and milch cows mew,
For what is lightness but inconsequence,
Vague fluctuation 'twixt effect and cause,
Compelled by neither? Is a bullet light,
That dashes from the gun-mouth, while the eye
Winks, and the heart beats one, to flatten itself
To a wafer on the white speck on a wall
A hundred paces off? Even so direct,
So sternly undivertible of aim,
Is this French people.
All idealists
Too absolute and earnest, with them all
The idea of a knife cuts real flesh;
And still, devouring the safe interval
Which Nature placed between the thought and act,
They threaten conflagration to the world
And rush with most unscrupulous logic on
Impossible practice. Set your orators
To blow upon them with loud windy mouths
Through watchword phrases, jest or sentiment,
Which drive our burley brutal English mobs
Like so much chaff, whichever way they blow,–
This light French people will not thus be driven.
They turn indeed; but then they turn upon
Some central pivot of their thought and choice,
And veer out by the force of holding fast.
–That's hard to understand, for Englishmen
Unused to abstract questions, and untrained
To trace the involutions, valve by valve,
In each orbed bulb-root of a general truth,
And mark what subtly fine integument
Divides opposed compartments. Freedom's self
Comes concrete to us, to be understood,
Fixed in a feudal form incarnately
To suit our ways of thought and reverence,
The special form, with us, being still the thing.
With us, I say, though I'm of Italy
My mother's birth and grave, by father's grave
And memory; let it be,–a poet's heart
[...] Read more
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Loss, Strain & Butterflies
he got bad when she got mad
He lowered it one more time and she got even
No one heard a single word
But as the clock ticked from next door i could hear her breathing
I said "good morning mr. sun, now i would like you to meet my friend mr. bomb
(he has a house made out of butterflies)"
Well i can't sleep sometimes but i've been told
It's a lonely condition called growing old.
Let me stumble sometimes...
I'm looking for someone to cling to, yeah...
So what you think about that?
This time, well it all comes down
To loss and strain and butterflies,
And then it comes right down to me.
Hello, have you been alright?
Did you find a piece of something
Wrapped around the light side of your life
To make you feel better?
Did you get out with your sanity?
Did you save a little something for the people in need?
Did you know with the rain in your pockets, you can change the weather?
I'm looking for something to cling to, yeah
Girl, what you think about that?
Well this time, yeah it all comes down
To loss and strain and butterflies
Then it comes right down to me.
Well this time, this time, yeah it all comes down
To loss and strain and butterflies.
Hey yeah yeah, come on down to me...
Is this just the total for the wages of our sins?
Have you made yourself a victim in a game that you can't win?
And are we caving in?
Does it all begin with loss and strain and butterflies?
Does it come right down to me, anymore?
Yeah this time, maybe, does it all come down
To loss and strain and butterflies?
Hey yeah yeah, well...
Come on down to me.
song performed by Matchbox 20
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Loss, Strain Butterflies
He got bad when she got mad
He lowered it one more time and she got even
No one heard a single word
But as the clock ticked from next door I could hear her breathing
I said good morning mr. sun, now I would like you to meet my friend mr. bomb
(he has a house made out of butterflies)
Well I cant sleep sometimes but Ive been told
Its a lonely condition called growing old.
Let me stumble sometimes...
Im looking for someone to cling to, yeah...
So what you think about that?
This time, well it all comes down
To loss and strain and butterflies,
And then it comes right down to me.
Hello, have you been alright?
Did you find a piece of something
Wrapped around the light side of your life
To make you feel better?
Did you get out with your sanity?
Did you save a little something for the people in need?
Did you know with the rain in your pockets, you can change the weather?
Im looking for something to cling to, yeah
Girl, what you think about that?
Well this time, yeah it all comes down
To loss and strain and butterflies
Then it comes right down to me.
Well this time, this time, yeah it all comes down
To loss and strain and butterflies.
Hey yeah yeah, come on down to me...
Is this just the total for the wages of our sins?
Have you made yourself a victim in a game that you cant win?
And are we caving in?
Does it all begin with loss and strain and butterflies?
Does it come right down to me, anymore?
Yeah this time, maybe, does it all come down
To loss and strain and butterflies?
Hey yeah yeah, well...
Come on down to me.
song performed by Matchbox 20
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Ode to the butterflies
the butterflies dart through space
some in measured grace
some in zig zag frenzy
some carrying wings too small
to take the weight of their body
up and down, up and down
they flit, flit-flitting a burdensome dance
some are in pairs and in
such obvious romance outing
they sprint to each other
head and tail, tail and head
frolic and merry make
an ubiquitous love dazed flight
charging up the season
nature lavishes such wholesome indulgences
over such fragile creatures
exquisite tender wears topped
with an equally edifying elixir of life
divinely blessed, proffered
the nectar of heavens
an intoxication of transcience
an air of lightness envelops as
the butterflies do their its ballet
a maze of colours flips - stripes, eyes,
tails, island paradise in hues of orange,
yellow, white luminous green, blue...
so gleefully the butterfies carry themselves
and when they do settle for us
they politely spread out pages of rainbow
fold and unfold them with gentle persuasion
to take the weight of our verses
so bewitchingly the butterflies
dart through their ethereal sojourn
invigorating as night blossoms
touching us in so many ways
giving thoughts wings
to fly into heaven's bliss
the butterflies dart through space
some in measured grace
some in zig zag frenzy
some carrying wings too small
to take the weight of their physique
up and down, up and down
they flit, flit-flitting a burdensome dance
[...] Read more
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Everlasting Rose
a rose is often used to show
your affectionate feelings to
someone special.
The 'r' in the word represents
The radiant beauty of a rose.
For no flow can compare.
For you are like a rose filled with passion
And are truly one of a kind.
The 'o' represents the overwhelming
depths of color of each petal of
the rose. It's like the outstanding
depths of color that spark in
your beautiful eyes.
The 's' represents the Softness
of each petal of the rose.
For your lips are like the
petalsof a rose, soft and sweet
to each kiss.
The 'e' represents the everlasting
beauty of the rose, for the rose
soon fades and dies.
But the everlasting beauty of it
stays in the eye of your mind forever
for you are like my rose.
For your beauty is everlasting
neither fades nor dies in the
eyes of the one that cares for you.
poem by Ryan Castro
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Butterfly Logic
BUTTERFLY LOGIC
Butterfly logic is the intelligence of beauty. These poems represent my attempts at butterfly logic.
BUTTERFLY
the butterfly
cannot fly back
to the cocoon
he grabs thorns
from the rose
to arm himself
BUTTERFLY ANGEL
butterfly angel
soars with infinity
no rest stops
gliding from
blossom to blossom
bringing new flowers
to her fold to bloom
butterfly angel
knows
shifts into winged ecstasy
morphs into woman
touching hearts without compromise
butterfly angel
flies into infinity
MAGIC BUTTERFLY
It is the essence
of magic
for a butterfly
to be earthly
angel singing
watch her
spread wings
wide
as colors
magnificent
adorn
shadows
embrace
rainbows
and me.
[...] Read more
poem by Larry Jaffe
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Sinner and The Spider
Sinner.
What black, what ugly crawling thing art thou?
Spider.
I am a spider——————-
Sinner.
A spider, ay, also a filthy creature.
Spider.
Not filthy as thyself in name or feature.
My name entailed is to my creation,
My features from the God of thy salvation.
Sinner.
I am a man, and in God's image made,
I have a soul shall neither die nor fade,
God has possessed me with human reason,
Speak not against me lest thou speakest treason.
For if I am the image of my Maker,
Of slanders laid on me He is partaker.
Spider.
I know thou art a creature far above me,
Therefore I shun, I fear, and also love thee.
But though thy God hath made thee such a creature,
Thou hast against him often played the traitor.
Thy sin has fetched thee down: leave off to boast;
Nature thou hast defiled, God's image lost.
Yea, thou thyself a very beast hast made,
And art become like grass, which soon doth fade.
Thy soul, thy reason, yea, thy spotless state,
Sin has subjected to th' most dreadful fate.
But I retain my primitive condition,
I've all but what I lost by thy ambition.
Sinner.
Thou venomed thing, I know not what to call thee,
The dregs of nature surely did befall thee,
Thou wast made of the dross and scum of all,
Man hates thee; doth, in scorn, thee spider call.
Spider.
[...] Read more
poem by John Bunyan
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Hesiod: or, The Rise of Woman
What ancient times (those times we fancy wise)
Have left on long record of woman's rise,
What morals teach it, and what fables hide,
What author wrote it, how that author dy'd
All these I sing. In Greece they fram'd the tale
(In Greece 'twas thought a woman might be frail);
Ye modern beauties! where the Poet drew
His softest pencil, thin he dreamt of you;
And, warn'd by him, ye wanton pens beware
How Heaven's concern'd to vindicate the fair.
The case was Hesiod's; he the fable writ;
Some think with meaning, some with idle wit:
Perhaps 'tis either, as the ladies please;
I wave the contest, and commence the lays.
In days of yore (no matter what or when,
'Twas ere the low creation swarm'd with men)
That one Prometheus, sprung of heavenly birth,
(Our Author's song can witness) liv'd on earth:
He carv'd the turf to mould a manly frame,
And stole from Jove his animating flame.
The sly contrivance o'er Olympus ran,
When thus the Monarch of the Stars began.
O vers'd in arts! whose daring thoughts aspire,
To kindle clay with never-dying fire!
Enjoy thy glory past, that gift was thine;
The next thy creature meets, be fairly mine:
And such a gift, a vengence so design'd,
As suits the counsel of a God to find;
A pleasing bosom-cheat, a specious ill,
Which felt the curse, yet covets still to feel.
He said, and Vulcan straight the Sire commands,
To temper mortar with Etherial hands;
In such a shape to mould a rising fair;
As virgin goddesses are proud to wear;
To make her eyes with diamond-water shine,
And form her organs for a voice divine
'Twas thus the Sire ordain'd; the Power obey'd;
And work'd, and wonder'd at the work he made;
The fairest, softest, sweetest frame beneath,
Now made to seem, now more than seem to breathe.
As Vulcan ends, the cheerful Queen of Charms
Clasp'd the new-panting creature in her arms:
From that embrace a fine complexion spread,
Where mingled whiteness glow'd with softer red.
Then in a kiss she breath'd her various arts,
Of triffling prettily with wounded hearts;
A mind for love, but still a changing mind;
The lisp affected, and the glance design'd
The sweet confusing blush, the secret wink,
The gentle swimming walk, the courteous sink;
[...] Read more
poem by Thomas Parnell
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 11
Thanne Scriptare scorned me and a skile tolde,
And lakked me in Latyn and light by me sette,
And seide, ' Multi multa sciunt et seipsos nesciunt.'
Tho wepte I for wo andwrathe of hir speche
And in a wynkynge w[o]rth til I [weex] aslepe.
A merveillous metels mette me thanne.
For I was ravysshed right there - for Fortune me fette
And into the lond of longynge and love she me broughte,
And in a mirour that highte Middelerthe she made me to biholde.
Sithen she seide to me,-Here myghtow se wondres,
And knowe that thow coveitest, and come therto, peraunter.'
Thanne hadde Fortune folwynge hire two faire damyseles
Concupiscencia Carnis men called the elder mayde,
And Coveitise of Eighes ycalled was that oother.
Pride of Parfit Lyvynge pursued hem bothe,
And bad me for my contenaunce acounten Clergie lighte.
Concupiscencia Carnis colled me aboute the nekke
And seide, 'Thow art yong and yeep and hast yeres ynowe
For to lyve longe and ladies to lovye;
And in this mirour thow might se myrthes ful manye
That leden thee wole to likynge al thi lif tyme.'
The secounde seide the same' I shal sewe thi wille;
Til thow be a lord and have lond, leten thee I nelle
That I ne shal folwe thi felawship, if Fortune it like.'
' He shal fynde me his frend,' quod Fortune therafter;
'The freke that folwede my wille failled nevere blisse.'
Thanne was ther oon that highte Elde, that hevy was of chere,
' Man,' quod he, 'if I mete with thee, by Marie of hevene
Thow shalt fynde Fortune thee faille at thi mooste nede,
And Concupiscencia Carnis clene thee forsake.
Bittrely shaltow banne thanne, bothe dayes and nyghtes,
Coveitise of Eighe, that evere thow hir knewe;
And Pride of Parfit Lyvynge to muche peril thee brynge.'
' Ye? Recche thee nevere!' quod Rechelesnesse, stood forth in raggede clothes
' Folwe forth that Fortune wole - thow has wel fer til Elde.
A man may stoupe tyme ynogh whan he shal tyne the crowne.
''Homo proponit,'' quod a poete, and Plato he highte,
''And Deus disponit'' quod he, 'lat God doon his wille.''
If Truthe wol witnesse it be wel do, Fortune to folwe,
Concupiscencia Carnis ne Coveitise of Eighes
Ne shal noght greve thee graithly, ne bigile thee but thow wolt.'
' Ye, farewel Phippe! ' quod Faunteltee, and forth gan me drawe,
Til Concupiscencia Carnis acorded til alle my werkes.
'Allas, eighe!' quod Elde and Holynesse bothe,
'That wit shal torne to wrecchednesse for wil to have his likyng!'
Coveitise of Eighes conforted me anoon after
And folwed me fourty wynter and a fifte moore,
That of Dowel ne Dobet no deyntee me thoughte.
[...] Read more
poem by William Langland
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!