The Truth
If you look at something
From all points of view
You will know the truth
About the thing.
The Truth is the identity of things
The Truth is the actual happenings
Allah is the Truth!
poem by Asif Andalib
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Related quotes
Poem: Will You Travel With Me To Heaven?
When you wake up in the morning
From a dream you think is okay
You see your spouse and family
Get ready for another day
The dream you saw, the things you see
The bed on which you soundly sleep
Your kids all grown up, your husband
And old memories that you keep
Who do you think created them?
Were they created from nothing?
If there is no god who made these
All, then what's the point of living?
D'you think we were made from nothing
Then from nothing we live for fun
To eat and drink, to love and hate
Then when we die, what comes is none?
The eyes with which your body sees
Those sockets that keep your eyeballs
The mouth you use for food and speech
The way you answer random calls
The languages you use to speak
And another –your mother tongue-
The way you carry yourself, and
How you breathe through your heart and lungs
The muscles that stretch when you smile
Your friends who often make you laugh
The words you try to understand
And how you sign your name so fast
Your kids who once stayed in your womb
The months you carried them in you
Your feelings when you saw their first
Walk and when they smile back at you
The food you eat and cook each day
The rainfalls that fall from above
The earth you walk on each night and
[...] Read more
poem by Miriam Mababaya
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Allahu
Khalik Khalik Khalik Khalik Allahu
Malik Malik Malik Malik Allahu
Moula Moula Moula Moula Allahu
Rabba Rabba Rabba Rabba Allahu
Allah Allah Allah Allah Allahu
Allah Allah Allah Allah I love you.
Allah Allah Allah is the all’s Guru
Allah Allah Allah Allah I love you.
Allah Allah Allah is the Old and New
Allah Allah Allah Allah I love you.
Allah Allah Allah is the Most Cando
Allah Allah Allah Allah I love you.
poem by Asif Andalib
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Shes Actual Size
Words fail
Buildings tumble
The ground opens wide
Light beams down from heaven
She stands before my eyes
Shes actual size, but she seems much bigger to me
Squares may look distant in her rear view mirror but theyre actual size
As she drives away
Big men
Often tremble
As they step aside
I thought I was big once
She changed my mind
Shes actual size, but she seems much bigger to me.
Ive never known anybody like her, shes actual size
Nationwide, believe
Shes got
All the money
Money couldnt buy
Shes got something special
That someone left behind
Shes actual size, but she seems much bigger to me
Squares may look distant in her rear view mirror but theyre actual size
Actual size to her
Her face
Hangs in portrait
On the post office wall
Shes stuck in my heart now
Where my blood belongs
Shes actual size, but she seems much bigger to me
Ive never known anybody like her, shes actual size
Actual size, believe
Notes
Heres the best guess so far about the lyrics to larger than life. please give input. I need help with all of the reggae lyrics!
Shes actual size, but she seems much bigger to me
Words fail
Buildings tumble
The ground opens wide
Light beams down from heaven
She stands before my eyes
Shes actual size, but she seems much bigger to me
Squares may look distant in her rear view mirror but theyre actual size
As she drives away
Big men
Often tremble
As they step aside
I thought I was big once
She changed my mind
Shes actual size, but she seems much bigger to me
Ive never known anybody like her, shes actual size
[...] Read more
song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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God Has Back [1]
My God is so good, he always listened to my complaints
My God is always wise to give instructions to the silence {Allah sent the Prophet gave instructions and guidance in the form of words}
My heart feels at peace when I close
My heart is upset when his far
My God is the best and fairest
Always let me, do anything {devotion to the creatures of Allah wants, Allah did not leave but it's all accounted for before Him}
My Lord is the most beautiful and beloved
Seemed to favor life when feeling protected
Most willing to listen to my heart pain
With the soothing my soul smile
I want to follow my lord, my lord good example {Humans can not imitate his Creator, man is obedient and disbelieve in Allah}
My Lord has come back in my heart {Allah is above the heavens, not in the heart, the instructions that can be illuminating and reassuring}
My God always comfort me with His peace
Silent and calm caress me, I feel the pleasure of Allah {not silent, nor caress you}
My God always comfort me when I worry
My God is the most obvious
Besides my god is all just an illusion. {Not all are His creation}
Lord with me in my solitude {Essence of Allah above His Throne, its control on all creatures and his defense on the servants who shared his servants rather than substance}
I saw my lord anywhere and keep it quiet and calm {you mere prejudice, actually Allah was in the sky, so by Allah through His word, Allah was the one who tells what creatures do not know}
I looked at the sun, I feel it in the air {it is a sign of His power, not Allah or Allah's Essence itself}
I listen to the voice crowing cock and machinery
Anywhere and anytime that there is only
God, just the eternal......spread over the universe really quiet and silent {far cry from the truth of such prejudice, the devil has lead you astray, Allah is not united with creation, separate from His creation}
October 1,2002
poem by Irvan Hermawan Saichu
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Abraham (Chapter 14, Verses 24-27, Holy Koran)
I ask for refuge to Allah from Satan the exiled evildoer.
In the name of Allah the Kind and the Merciful Giver.
Haven't you thought it over already
How Allah sets forth an allegory
Kalema-A-Taiyeba is like a good tree
Whose root is firm and will never die
And whose branches are in the sky.
It bears fruit in every season
By the permission of its Lord
And Allah sets forth allegories
So that they may learn lesson.
And an evil Kalema is like a bad tree
When it's uprooted, it loses stability.
Allah confirms those
Who believe in Kalema-A-Taiyeba
In this life and in the life-after
And Allah keeps the oppressors confused forever
And Allah does whatever makes Him happier.
N.B. -Allah's happiness is more than His sorrow
That's why Allah is happy.
Kalema-A-Taiyeba is the Muslim's Holy Word -
There's no god but Allah
Mohammad is the messenger of Allah.
poem by Asif Andalib
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Soboba
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soccer camp for adults
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soccer camp florida tech
soccer camp fall 2007 dallas tx
[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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The Giaour
No breath of air to break the wave
That rolls below the Athenian's grave,
That tomb which, gleaming o'er the cliff
First greets the homeward-veering skiff
High o'er the land he saved in vain;
When shall such Hero live again?
Fair clime! where every season smiles
Benignant o'er those blesséd isles,
Which, seen from far Colonna's height,
Make glad the heart that hails the sight,
And lend to lonliness delight.
There mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek
Reflects the tints of many a peak
Caught by the laughing tides that lave
These Edens of the Eastern wave:
And if at times a transient breeze
Break the blue crystal of the seas,
Or sweep one blossom from the trees,
How welcome is each gentle air
That waves and wafts the odours there!
For there the Rose, o'er crag or vale,
Sultana of the Nightingale,
The maid for whom his melody,
His thousand songs are heard on high,
Blooms blushing to her lover's tale:
His queen, the garden queen, his Rose,
Unbent by winds, unchilled by snows,
Far from winters of the west,
By every breeze and season blest,
Returns the sweets by Nature given
In soft incense back to Heaven;
And gratefu yields that smiling sky
Her fairest hue and fragrant sigh.
And many a summer flower is there,
And many a shade that Love might share,
And many a grotto, meant by rest,
That holds the pirate for a guest;
Whose bark in sheltering cove below
Lurks for the pasiing peaceful prow,
Till the gay mariner's guitar
Is heard, and seen the Evening Star;
Then stealing with the muffled oar,
Far shaded by the rocky shore,
Rush the night-prowlers on the prey,
And turns to groan his roudelay.
Strande—that where Nature loved to trace,
As if for Gods, a dwelling place,
[...] Read more
poem by Byron (1813)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Giaour: A Fragment Of A Turkish Tale
No breath of air to break the wave
That rolls below the Athenian's grave,
That tomb which, gleaming o'er the cliff
First greets the homeward-veering skiff
High o'er the land he saved in vain;
When shall such Hero live again?
Fair clime! where every season smiles
Benignant o'er those blesséd isles,
Which, seen from far Colonna's height,
Make glad the heart that hails the sight,
And lend to lonliness delight.
There mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek
Reflects the tints of many a peak
Caught by the laughing tides that lave
These Edens of the Eastern wave:
And if at times a transient breeze
Break the blue crystal of the seas,
Or sweep one blossom from the trees,
How welcome is each gentle air
That waves and wafts the odours there!
For there the Rose, o'er crag or vale,
Sultana of the Nightingale,
The maid for whom his melody,
His thousand songs are heard on high,
Blooms blushing to her lover's tale:
His queen, the garden queen, his Rose,
Unbent by winds, unchilled by snows,
Far from winters of the west,
By every breeze and season blest,
Returns the sweets by Nature given
In soft incense back to Heaven;
And gratefu yields that smiling sky
Her fairest hue and fragrant sigh.
And many a summer flower is there,
And many a shade that Love might share,
And many a grotto, meant by rest,
That holds the pirate for a guest;
Whose bark in sheltering cove below
Lurks for the pasiing peaceful prow,
Till the gay mariner's guitar
Is heard, and seen the Evening Star;
Then stealing with the muffled oar,
Far shaded by the rocky shore,
Rush the night-prowlers on the prey,
And turns to groan his roudelay.
Strande-that where Nature loved to trace,
As if for Gods, a dwelling place,
And every charm and grace hath mixed
[...] Read more
The Remembrance
When things are down
And you are out of your mind
Remember just remember
Allah is The Kind.
When your life is in darkness
And nothing is right
Remember just remember
Through the darkness, Allah is The Light.
When nothing makes sense
And you're heading for demise
Remember just remember
It doesn’t make sense, but Allah is The Wise.
When times are troubled
And no one seems to care
Remember just remember
Allah won’t hurt you, He is The Fair.
When your heart is breaking
And your pain makes you fall
Remember just remember
Allah Sees it all.
When you are weak
And the road seems long
Remember just remember
Seek strength from The Strong.
When life is a burden
And everything is unstable
Remember just remember
Allah is The Able.
When the way is cloudy
And there is no one by your side
Remember just remember
Allah is The Only Guide.
When no one wants to listen
Nor is willing to lend an ear
Remember just remember
Allah is always ready to hear.
When you are poor and penniless
And you are stuck in a niche
Remember just remember
Allah is The Rich.
[...] Read more
poem by Nazmul Haque
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society
Epigraph
Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.
I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.
You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning (1871)
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Two Points Of View
You, always making promises
Who gets the blame for your mistakes
You, made a game of politics
Now fear and guilt on your face
But I cant feel your pain
And I wont share your shame
All I know is what I feel
Music sets me free
I dont mind walking in the rain
Ooh, tears of heaven soothe my pain
Love is the sound that makes me sing
I love to play a melody
But you cant hear the sound
But you cant, you cant feel the beat
All I know is what I feel
Music sets me free
I dont mind walking in the rain
Ooh, tears of heaven soothe my pain
Love is the sound that makes me sing
I love to play a melody
But you cant hear the sound
But you cant, you cant feel the beat
All I know is what I feel
Music sets me free
Two points of view
Two points of view
Two points of view
One for me, and one for you
But you cant hear the sound
But you cant, you cant feel the beat
All I know is what I feel
Music sets me free
Two points of view
Two points of view
Two points of view
One for me and one for you
Two points of view
Two points of view
song performed by Santana
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Parish Register - Part III: Burials
THERE was, 'tis said, and I believe, a time
When humble Christians died with views sublime;
When all were ready for their faith to bleed,
But few to write or wrangle for their creed;
When lively Faith upheld the sinking heart,
And friends, assured to meet, prepared to part;
When Love felt hope, when Sorrow grew serene,
And all was comfort in the death-bed scene.
Alas! when now the gloomy king they wait,
'Tis weakness yielding to resistless fate;
Like wretched men upon the ocean cast,
They labour hard and struggle to the last;
'Hope against hope,' and wildly gaze around
In search of help that never shall be found:
Nor, till the last strong billow stops the breath,
Will they believe them in the jaws of Death!
When these my Records I reflecting read,
And find what ills these numerous births succeed;
What powerful griefs these nuptial ties attend;
With what regret these painful journeys end;
When from the cradle to the grave I look,
Mine I conceive a melancholy book.
Where now is perfect resignation seen?
Alas! it is not on the village-green: -
I've seldom known, though I have often read,
Of happy peasants on their dying-bed;
Whose looks proclaimed that sunshine of the breast,
That more than hope, that Heaven itself express'd.
What I behold are feverish fits of strife,
'Twixt fears of dying and desire of life:
Those earthly hopes, that to the last endure;
Those fears, that hopes superior fail to cure;
At best a sad submission to the doom,
Which, turning from the danger, lets it come.
Sick lies the man, bewilder'd, lost, afraid,
His spirits vanquish'd, and his strength decay'd;
No hope the friend, the nurse, the doctor lend -
'Call then a priest, and fit him for his end.'
A priest is call'd; 'tis now, alas! too late,
Death enters with him at the cottage-gate;
Or time allow'd--he goes, assured to find
The self-commending, all-confiding mind;
And sighs to hear, what we may justly call
Death's common-place, the train of thought in all.
'True I'm a sinner,' feebly he begins,
'But trust in Mercy to forgive my sins:'
(Such cool confession no past crimes excite!
Such claim on Mercy seems the sinner's right!)
'I know mankind are frail, that God is just,
And pardons those who in his Mercy trust;
[...] Read more
poem by George Crabbe
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Vision Of Columbus - Book 5
Columbus hail'd them with a father's smile,
Fruits of his cares and children of his toil;
With tears of joy, while still his eyes descried
Their course adventurous o'er the distant tide.
Thus, when o'er deluged earth her Seraph stood,
The tost ark bounding on the shoreless flood,
The sacred treasure claim'd his guardian view,
While climes unnoticed in the wave withdrew.
He saw the squadrons reach the rising strand,
Leap from the wave and share the joyous land;
Receding forests yield the heroes room,
And opening wilds with fields and gardens bloom.
Fill'd with the glance extatic, all his soul
Now seems unbounded with the scene to roll,
And now, impatient, with retorted eye,
Perceives his station in another sky.
Waft me, O winged Angel, waft me o'er,
With those blest heroes, to the happy shore;
There let me live and die–but all appears
A fleeting vision; these are future years.
Yet grant in nearer view the climes may spread,
And my glad steps may seem their walks to tread;
While eastern coasts and kingdoms, wrapp'd in night,
Arise no more to intercept the sight.
The hero spoke; the Angel's powerful hand
Moves brightening o'er the visionary land;
The height, that bore them, still sublimer grew,
And earth's whole circuit settled from their view:
A dusky Deep, serene as breathless even,
Seem'd vaulting downward, like another heaven;
The sun, rejoicing on his western way,
Stamp'd his fair image in the inverted day:
Sudden, the northern shores again drew nigh,
And life and action fill'd the hero's eye.
Where the dread Laurence breaks his passage wide,
Where Missisippi's milder currents glide,
Where midland realms their swelling mountainsheave,
And slope their champaigns to the distant wave,
On the green banks, and o'er the extended plain,
Rise into sight the happiest walks of man.
The placid ports, that break the billowing gales,
Rear their tall masts and stretch their whitening sails;
The harvests wave, the groves with fruitage bend,
And bulwarks heave, and spiry domes ascend;
Fair works of peace in growing splendor rise,
And grateful earth repays the bounteous skies.
Till war invades; when opening vales disclose,
In moving crouds, the savage tribes of foes;
High tufted quills their painted foreheads press,
Dark spoils of beasts their shaggy shoulders dress,
[...] Read more
poem by Joel Barlow
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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto I.
To Ianthe:
Not in those climes where I have late been straying,
Though Beauty long hath there been matchless deem'd;
Not in those visions to the heart displaying
Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd,
Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd:
Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek
To paint those charms which varied as they beam'd --
To such as see thee not my words were weak;
To those who gaze on thee what language could they speak?
Ah! may'st thou ever be what now thou art,
Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring,
As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart,
Love's image upon earth without his wing,
And guileless beyond Hope's imagining!
And surely she who now so fondly rears
Thy youth, in thee, thus hourly brightening,
Beholds the rainbow of her future years,
Before whose heavenly hues all sorrow disappears.
Young Peri of the West!-'tis well for me
My years already doubly number thine;
My loveless eye unmov'd may gaze on thee,
And safely view thy ripening beauties shine;
Happy, I ne'er shall see them in decline,
Happier, that while all younger hearts shall bleed,
Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes assign
To those whose admiration shall succeed,
But mixed with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours decreed.
Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's,
Now brightly bold or beautifully shy,
Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells,
Glance o'er this page; nor to my verse deny
That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh,
Could I to thee be ever more than friend:
This much, dear maid, accord; nor question why
To one so young my strain I would commend,
But bid me with my wreath one matchless lily blend.
Such is thy name with this my verse entwin'd;
And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast
On Harold's page, Ianthe's here enshrin'd
Shall thus be first beheld, forgotten last:
My days once number'd, should this homage past
Attract thy fairy fingers near the lyre
Of him who hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast,
Such is the most my memory may desire;
Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship less require?
[...] Read more
The Wanderer: A Vision: Canto V
We left the cave. Be Fear (said I) defy'd!
Virtue (for thou art Virtue) is my guide.
By time-worn steps a steep ascent we gain,
Whose summit yields a prospect o'er the plain.
There, bench'd with turf, an oak our seat extends,
Whose top, a verdant, branch'd pavilion bends.
Vistas, with leaves, diversify the scene,
Some pale, some brown, and some of lively green.
Now, from the full-grown day a beamy show'r
Gleams on the lake, and gilds each glossy flow'r.
Gay insects sparkle in the genial blaze,
Various as light, and countless as its rays:
They dance on every stream, and pictur'd play,
'Till, by the wat'ry racer, snatch'd away.
Now, from yon range of rocks, strong rays rebound,
Doubling the day on flow'ry plains around:
King-cups beneath far-striking colours glance,
Bright as th' etherial glows the green expanse.
Gems of the field!-the topaz charms the sight,
Like these, effulging yellow streams of light.
From the same rocks, fall rills with soften'd force,
Meet in yon mead, and well a river's source.
Thro' her clear channel, shine her finny shoals,
O'er sands, like gold, the liquid crystal rolls.
Dimm'd in yon coarser moor, her charms decay,
And shape, thro' rustling reeds, a ruffled way.
Near willows short and bushy shadows throw:
Now lost, she seems thro' nether tracts to flow;
Yet, at yon point, winds out in silver state,
Like Virtue from a labyrinth of fate.
In length'ning rows, prone from the mountains, run
The flocks:-their fleeces glist'ning in the sun;
Her streams they seek, and, 'twixt her neighb'ring trees,
Recline in various attitudes of ease.
Where the herds sip, the little scaly fry,
Swift from the shore, in scatt'ring myriads fly.
Each liv'ry'd cloud, that round th' horizon glows,
Shifts in odd scenes, like earth, from whence it rose.
The bee hums wanton in yon jasmine bow'r,
And circling settles, and despoils the flow'r.
Melodious there the plumy songsters meet,
And call charm'd Echo from her arch'd retreat.
[...] Read more
poem by Richard Savage
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What Makes A True Friend?
What are the qualities that a friend should
have – that which would make a true friend so true?
A friend is one whom you like to be with
while a true friend insists on being with you.
A friend likes you when you have so much in
common. True friends like you who for who you are.
True friends make you feel as though they are at
all times near, although they are very far.
A true friend is one whom you can always
talk to, even at night when it is late -
when loved ones are asleep, a true friend is
always there to hear what you have to say.
Friends like to share, but a true friend always
gives you – not what you want, but what you need.
The feelings you hide, as well as your thoughts,
and your dreams, a true friend can always read.
A friend may forgive you or they may not
forgive, for something wrong you've done to them.
A true friend forgives even when you don't
ask. True friends forgive - again and again.
Friends are close when you are close to them. A
true friend wants your friendship to be closer.
A true friend does what is best for you, and
hates that you would end up with the losers.
A true friend teaches you lessons to help
you grow – lessons that are hard and easy.
A true friend is always there - having a
true friend can never make you feel lonely.
Friends may sometimes make mistakes, but a true
friend is always careful not to hurt you.
A true friend is a guide and a teacher.
A true friend knows everything you go through.
The true friend I mention is our God,
who kept you company before you were born.
The friendship of God, if you truly keep
and cherish, you will never feel forlorn.
The true friend we all need is God (Allah) –
the One who guides and can teach us lessons,
the One who hears our calls and understands,
the One always near – in every season –
[...] Read more
poem by Miriam Mababaya
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A For Allah
A for Allah
A for All
A for Alright
It’s all right!
A for Allah
It's for All
Allah Allah
Allahu
Who who who who
Allahu
-------
A for Allah
A for All
Yea it's for All
It's all right
A for Allah
It's for All
Allah Allah
Allahu
Who who who who
Allahu
-------
Hmm Hmm Hmm Hmm
Allahu
-------
poem by Asif Andalib
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Allah, please never mind
Allah is the Most Kind
Allah, please never mind.
Allah can see and hear
Allah, please grant prayer.
Allah can speak freely
Allah, please talk to me.
Allah is the Best King
Allah, please do something.
(Amen)
poem by Asif Andalib
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The Cow (Chapter 2, Verses 261-263, Holy Koran)
I ask for refuge to Allah from Satan the exiled evildoer.
In the name of Allah the Kind and the Merciful Giver.
Those who spend their property
In the way of Allah the Giver
Their reward will be like a grain growing seven ears
With a hundred grains in every ear
And Allah multiplies reward for whom He cares
And Allah is the Ample-Giving Wise Teacher.
And those who spend their property
In the way of Allah the Giver
Then do not follow up
With reproach or injury
They shall have their reward
From Allah the Wise Teacher
And they shall have no fear
And they won't be sorry.
Kind words and mercy
Is better than charity
Followed by injury
And Allah doesn't need anything
And He is forbearing.
poem by Asif Andalib
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Oh, thou, in Hellas deemed of heavenly birth,
Muse, formed or fabled at the minstrel’s will!
Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth,
Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill:
Yet there I’ve wandered by thy vaunted rill;
Yes! sighed o’er Delphi’s long-deserted shrine
Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still;
Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine
To grace so plain a tale - this lowly lay of mine.
II.
Whilome in Albion’s isle there dwelt a youth,
Who ne in virtue’s ways did take delight;
But spent his days in riot most uncouth,
And vexed with mirth the drowsy ear of Night.
Ah, me! in sooth he was a shameless wight,
Sore given to revel and ungodly glee;
Few earthly things found favour in his sight
Save concubines and carnal companie,
And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree.
III.
Childe Harold was he hight: - but whence his name
And lineage long, it suits me not to say;
Suffice it, that perchance they were of fame,
And had been glorious in another day:
But one sad losel soils a name for aye,
However mighty in the olden time;
Nor all that heralds rake from coffined clay,
Nor florid prose, nor honeyed lines of rhyme,
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.
IV.
Childe Harold basked him in the noontide sun,
Disporting there like any other fly,
Nor deemed before his little day was done
One blast might chill him into misery.
But long ere scarce a third of his passed by,
Worse than adversity the Childe befell;
He felt the fulness of satiety:
Then loathed he in his native land to dwell,
Which seemed to him more lone than eremite’s sad cell.
V.
For he through Sin’s long labyrinth had run,
Nor made atonement when he did amiss,
[...] Read more
poem by Byron from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1818)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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