Quotes about fickle, page 2
Stranger in Strange Crowd
STRANGER IN STRANGE CROWD
Dreams stranger’s path divide
from crowd’s uneven t[h]read
who's tissue, issues poorly understood, through dread
is left behind, swirls second rate as flotsam on life's tide,
noise windmills, senses silent, life-blood sped,
bled white, so often fearing fear, by wisdom wide,
unblessed, unsteady set sights low instead.
Despite stress, sentiments denied, imagination set aside,
stranger story stores till head heeds heart, until desires well led
fire understanding rich allied with empathy sustaining ride.
Swift Pegasus is supplied
with neither saddle, A to Zed accoutrements life tears to shreds
when vested interests, motives pure collide.
Defy temptations of soft ride
along straight road which, comfort fed,
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Henry And Emma. A Poem.
Upon the Model of The Nut-Brown Maid. To Cloe.
Thou, to whose eyes I bend, at whose command
(Though low my voice, though artless be my hand.
I take the sprightly reed, and sing and play,
Careless of what the censuring world may say;
Bright Cloe! object of my constant vow,
Wilt thou a while unbend thy serious brow?
Wilt thou with pleasure hear thy lover's strains,
And with one heavenly smile o'erpay his pains?
No longer shall the Nut-brown Maid be old,
Though since her youth three hundred years have roll'd:
At thy desire she shall again be raised,
And her reviving charms in lasting verse be praised.
No longer man of woman shall complain,
That he may love and not be loved again;
That we in vain the fickle sex pursue,
Who change the constant lover for the new.
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poem by Matthew Prior
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The Plea Of The Midsummer Fairies
I
'Twas in that mellow season of the year
When the hot sun singes the yellow leaves
Till they be gold,—and with a broader sphere
The Moon looks down on Ceres and her sheaves;
When more abundantly the spider weaves,
And the cold wind breathes from a chillier clime;—
That forth I fared, on one of those still eves,
Touch'd with the dewy sadness of the time,
To think how the bright months had spent their prime,
II
So that, wherever I address'd my way,
I seem'd to track the melancholy feet
Of him that is the Father of Decay,
And spoils at once the sour weed and the sweet;—
Wherefore regretfully I made retreat
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poem by Thomas Hood
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Love Is A Fickle Lady
Golden threads and silver needles
cannot mend this heart of mine
that has been broken
just one too many times.
Love is fickle lady
that takes us on a merry dance,
who when she’s finished with us
will disappear with a second glance.
We have no way of knowing
when or where she’ll come along.
We only know it
after she has gone.
Misery and heartaches
always adorns her path.
It is always there for everyone to see.
As love is a fickle lady.
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poem by David Harris
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Fair Iris I Love and Hourly I Die
Fair Iris I love and hourly I die,
But not for a lip nor a languishing eye:
She's fickle and false, and there I agree;
For I am as false and as fickle as she:
We neither believe what either can say;
And, neither believing, we neither betray.
'Tis civil to swear and say things, of course;
We mean not the taking for better or worse.
When present we love, when absent agree;
I think not of Iris, nor Iris of me:
The legend of love no couple can find
So easy to part, or so equally join'd.
poem by John Dryden
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Song From Amphitryon
Air Iris I love, and hourly I die,
But not for a lip, nor a languishing eye:
She's fickle and false, and there we agree,
For I am as false and as fickle as she.
We neither believe what either can say;
And, neither believing, we neither betray.
'Tis civil to swear, and say things of course;
We mean not the taking for better or worse.
When present, we love; when absent, agree:
I think not of Iris, nor Iris of me.
The legend of love no couple can find,
So easy to part, or so equally join'd.
poem by John Dryden
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Fickle Moon
Will the moon come out tonight?
Will it show its big round face?
Or will it be covered by too many clouds
showing me just a trace?
Oh fickle moon, here one minute,
then you disappear,
just like a lover hangin' around,
then no longer here.
Oh fickle moon you brighten up the night.
You make me feel just fine.
My mood is happy. My smile is big
as long as I see you shine.
My lover is as changeable as the moon.
He's never in one place.
And I'm never sure when I search for him
if he'll show his big round face?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Sonnet 126: O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time's fickle glass his fickle hour;
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st.
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May Time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill.
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure!
She may detain, but not still keep her treasure.
Her audit, though delayed, answered must be,
And her quietus is to render thee.
poem by William Shakespeare
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March of the Wheelchairs
In Dakota land lunch is dinner
and dinner supper while lunch is lunch,
as traditions from farmlands go.
Now breakfast is at 6, lunch at 9
dinner at noon, lunch at 3
supper at 7, everything timed.
Day in and day out, better not be late.
Weather fickle, eating ain’t!
Farm traditions, genetics ‘grained.
No surprise, nursing meals,
wheelchairs marching, internal time,
largo moves, staccato fades.
Day in, day out…they’re not late
Wheelchairs marching, marching in
farm traditions, genetics ‘grained.
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poem by C.H. Sund
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Fickle Time
Center-piece to December
We swoon over evergreen pine
Nostalgia wistfully remember
An ode for such a short time
And we love it till we disassemble
Then throw out as old bean cans
How fickle is the feathers
That tickle the fancy of easily distracted
Human
Kind
Then we praise the humble daffodil
The homeliness of the oak
The weeping of the Willow
Ivy's strangulating choke
Yet, today I stood just feet away from
A most honourable nurturing pine
Displaying on its top leaves
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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