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Modesty

A show of modesty,
From one brave to pave a way...
Is someone who has strength.
With a purpose known meant.

Experiencing those obstacles,
And having them not show...
Leaves very little to say,
By those who live their lives delayed.

Since a modesty seems to be freed,
When pains once had are over.
And unconditional,
Is the love.

And a modesty seems to be freed,
When one like this recovers knowing...
Life has its ups,
And its downs.
And...

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fidelity to conscience is inconsistent with retiring modesty. If it be so, let the modesty succumb. It can be only a false modesty which can be thus endangered.

quote by Harriet Martineau
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It's Like An Odyssey

Your modesty has started,
And it's something I now feel...
Comes from your heart.
Deep it is and it is real.
I hope it never will depart.

Congratulations.
You should be elated.
Congratulations.
You should celebrate.
Congratualtions,
Not everyone can state it...
That they have now arrived,
with this feeling felt inside.

It's like an odyssey!
when a modesty gets started.
Just like an odyssey...
One takes to never leave.
It's like an odyssey.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A silence is an answer

I was lost with confusion
There was no guilt for admission
Yet I felt it is modesty violation
Though it has no direct relation

The woman has something to protect
Her modesty and moments of pride
So much at stake and more to hide
Less to reveal and more to confide

There is constant clash in mind
What can be first marriage counter be called?
Is it submission, sell out or surrender?
How can stranger in life be called an offender?

Anybody may be baffled with such questions?
Nothing can console with satisfactory answer or solutions?
It is clash of thoughts and not of any substance
Probably it can be brushed aside as wrong stance

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Dishonest Modesty

(carly simon/zach wiesner)
You come on strong telling everyone
About your latest role
How you saved the movie, stole the show
Well everybody knows
And if you have no time for all your offers
Youll see that I get called
And if you have no time for all your men
Youll see that I get balled
Well I dont expect humility
But what about some good old fashioned dishonest modesty
You say that you can understudy
All the other parts
You can write a song that will make us cry
That touches all our hearts
And you can house and garden
Vogue and glamour, mademoiselle
But I know you can bitch and screw
And penthouse just aswell
I dont expect humility

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song performed by Carly Simon
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To The Right Hon. Mr. Dodington

Long, Dodington, in debt, I long have sought
To ease the burden of my graceful thought:
And now a poet's gratitude you see:
Grant him two favours, and he'll ask for three:
For whose the present glory, or the gain?
You give protection, I a worthless strain.
You love and feel the poet's sacred flame,
And know the basis of a solid fame;
Though prone to like, yet cautious to commend,
You read with all the malice of a friend;
Nor favour my attempts that way alone,
But, more to raise my verse, conceal your own.
An ill-tim'd modesty! turn ages o'er,
When wanted Britain bright examples more?
Her learning, and her genius too, decays;
And dark and cold are her declining days;
As if men now were of another cast,
They meanly live on alms of ages past,
Men still are men; and they who boldly dare,
Shall triumph o'er the sons of cold despair;

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poem by Edward Young
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Visions of the Daughters of Albion

The Eye sees more than the heart knows.

The Argument

I loved Theotormon
And I was not ashamed
I trembled in my virgin fears
And I hid in Leutha's Vale!

I plucked Leutha's flower,
And I rose up from the vale;
But the terrible thunders tore
My virgin mantle in twain.

Visions

Enslav'd, the Daughters of Albion weep; a trembling lamentation
Upon their mountains; in their valleys, sighs towards America.
For the soft soul of America, Oothoon wanderd in woe,
Along the vales of Leutha seeking flowers to comfort her;

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poem by William Blake (1793)
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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,

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poem by Byron
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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.

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poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
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Metamorphoses: Book The Tenth

THENCE, in his saffron robe, for distant Thrace,
Hymen departs, thro' air's unmeasur'd space;
By Orpheus call'd, the nuptial Pow'r attends,
But with ill-omen'd augury descends;
Nor chearful look'd the God, nor prosp'rous spoke,
Nor blaz'd his torch, but wept in hissing smoke.
In vain they whirl it round, in vain they shake,
No rapid motion can its flames awake.
The Story of With dread these inauspicious signs were view'd,
Orpheus And soon a more disastrous end ensu'd;
and Eurydice For as the bride, amid the Naiad train,
Ran joyful, sporting o'er the flow'ry plain,
A venom'd viper bit her as she pass'd;
Instant she fell, and sudden breath'd her last.
When long his loss the Thracian had deplor'd,
Not by superior Pow'rs to be restor'd;
Inflam'd by love, and urg'd by deep despair,
He leaves the realms of light, and upper air;
Daring to tread the dark Tenarian road,
And tempt the shades in their obscure abode;

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poem by Ovid
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