Quotes about crime, page 7
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
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poem by Byron (1813)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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II. Half-Rome
What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.)
Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd:
This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze:
I'll tell you like a book and save your shins.
Fie, what a roaring day we've had! Whose fault?
Lorenzo in Lucina,—here's a church
To hold a crowd at need, accommodate
All comers from the Corso! If this crush
Make not its priests ashamed of what they show
For temple-room, don't prick them to draw purse
And down with bricks and mortar, eke us out
The beggarly transept with its bit of apse
Into a decent space for Christian ease,
Why, to-day's lucky pearl is cast to swine.
Listen and estimate the luck they've had!
(The right man, and I hold him.)
Sir, do you see,
They laid both bodies in the church, this morn
The first thing, on the chancel two steps up,
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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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.
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Love is not a crime, denying it is. Having dreams is not a crime, not chasing them is. Making mistakes is not a crime, not learning from them is. Life is not a crime, not living it is.
quote by Alexander Senturia
Added by Lucian Velea
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Law and claw
Convicted of the crime that you committed,
You will absolve the guilt.
Convicted of the crime that you uncommitted,
You will curse the guilt.
Acquitted of the crime that you
uncommitted,
You will evict the guilt.
Acquitted of the crime that you committed,
You die of the guilt.
To escape from law
is to succumb to conscience’s claw.
29.12.2001, Palakkad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I Hate the Thought of Hate Crimes
A crime is a crime no matter how cut it,
A murder is a murder, a rape is a rape,
An assault is what it is,
A crime scene is a crime with the yellow tape.
If the prisons were to be abundant,
We can then send to jail all are convicted,
We don’t have to pardon anyone out overcrowding and time off for good behavior,
We must send all the criminals that indicted,
Guilty as charged that is what should fuel our endeavor.
Are we really up to the cost?
Are we really up to taxation?
Are we saying we have lost?
Are we saying we’ll pass another law,
such as hate crimes,
without a suitable explanation?
(11-20-2007)
poem by Joe Rosochacki
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Wrestling A Foe
To wrestle a foe is suggesting a crime,
May werewolves regulate our passes,
This time no help is at bedtime.
Your nation lies ahead as we climb,
May strangers lurk in the dark gases,
To wrestle a foe is suggesting a crime.
Combatting the burden on our mime,
May dangers damage the glasses,
This time no help is at bedtime.
Yesterday, the day was like the lime,
Will they not be sour and sweet as lasses?
To wrestle a foe is suggesting a crime.
May today ask for sentences as longtime,
Yet the nights swing in masses,
This time no help is at bedtime.
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poem by Naveed Akram
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The Great Gift Of Youth
The great gift of youth is a thing to enjoy
And the crimes of the man are not the crimes of the boy
That all children are innocent to all children apply
And why we lose our innocence don't ask me why?
That time changes us as people does seem sad to say
We lose our youthful innocence as we grow old and gray
And some even become more hardened with the passing of time
Lose respect for self and others and turn to crime.
Any crime against children cannot be seen as small
And the abuse of a child one of the greatest crimes of all
Any crime against a child a hard crime to forgive
Those who commit such crimes with their sins have to live.
It's praises the singers and Songwriters sing
For the great gift of youth is a marvellous thing
And sad to say some children at a young age have innocence stole
From them by damaged adults who lack in self control.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Stop Giving Them a Reason
We're running on low.
Low
Low
Low.
We're running on desperateness,
And fear
That has to end.
We're running on low.
Low
Low
Low.
We're running on desperateness,
And fear
That has to end.
We've got to stop excuses.
Stop feeding crime to police.
Stop giving them a reason,
To use a gun!
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Answer
Men and boys, O fathers, brothers,
Burst these fetters round you bound.
Women, sisters, wives and mothers,
Lift your faces from the ground!
O Democracy, O People,
East and West and North and South,
Rise together, one for ever,
Strike this Crime upon the mouth!
Bid them not, the men who loved you,
Those who fought for you and died,
Scorn you that you broke a small Crime,
Left a great Crime pass in pride!
England, France, the played-out countries,
Let them reek there in their stew,
Let their past rot out their present,
But the Future is with you!
O America, O first-born
Of the age that yet shall be
Where all men shall be as one man,
Noble, faithful, fearless, free! —
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poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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