Drinke to me, onely, with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kisse but in the cup,
And Ile not looke for wine.
The thirst, that from the soule doth rise,
Doth aske a drinke divine:
But might I of Jove's Nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee, late, a rosie wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
It could not withered bee.
But thou thereon did'st onely breath,
And sent'st it back to mee:
Since when it growes, and smells, I sweare,
Not of it selfe, but thee.
The shaft of narrative peers down.
The soul's a petrified fleck of partridge this October.
Mud-spattered, it thinks it's brush, it thinks
it's one with the brush when God aims
just below its feathers. It's too late to raise the soul,
some ossified conceit we use to talk about deer
as if we were deer, to talk about the sun, as if the cold
autumn light mirrored our lover asleep in the tub.
I hear he's singing some sad song
That I did run away from him.
Of course he wonders what went wrong,
And why I took off on a whim.
He says he's shedding lots of tears
And he is so missing me.
He's mouthing to whoever's ears
Will listen 'bout his misery.
I know him well 'nough to know that
He's hoping some listeners will
«Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: Σίβυλλα τί θέλεις; respondebat illa: ἀποθανεῖν θέλω.» ************************************************************************************************************************ - It is quoted by T.S. Eliot in 'The Waste Land' (1922) - - - The quote refers to the mythic Cumaean Sibyl who bargained with Apollo, offering her virginity for years of life totaling as many grains of sand as she could hold in her hand. But, after spurning his love, he allowed her to wither away over the span of her near-immortality, as she forgot to ask for eternal youth. - The Satyricon tells of the misadventures of a former gladiator through the Roman Empire in the first century A.D. Only fragments of the story still exist. The scene Eliot quotes occurs during a feast at the villa of a wealthy buffoon named Trimalchio. - Sibyl of Cumae was a prophetess in service to Apollo and a great beauty. Apollo wished to take her as his lover and offered her anything she desired. She asked to live for as many years as there were grains in a handful of dust. Apollo granted her wish, but still she refused to become his lover. In time, Sibyl came to regret her boon as she grew old but did not die. She lived for hundreds of years, each year becoming smaller and frailer, Apollo having given her long life but not eternal youth. - When Trimalchio speaks of her in the Satyricon, she is little more than a tourist attraction, tiny, ancient, confined, and longing to die. - - Secondo la leggenda, Apollo le aveva promesso di esaudire qualunque suo desiderio in cambio del suo amore; ella gli chiese di poter vivere altrettanti anni quanti erano i granelli di sabbia che poteva tenere nella sua mano. Trascurò, tuttavia, di domandare al dio anche l'eterna giovinezza, che Apollo le offrì in cambio della sua verginità. In seguito al rifiuto la Sibilla Cumana iniziò ad invecchiare e a rinsecchire fino ad assomigliare ad una cicala e a essere appesa in una gabbia del tempio di Apollo, a Cuma. In queste condizioni la Sibilla aveva un solo desiderio: la morte..
If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were lov'd by wife, then thee.
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompetence.
Thy love is such I can no way repay.
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let's so persever
That when we live no more, we may live ever.
Lay my rifle here beside me, set my Bible on my breast,
For a moment let the warning bugles cease;
As the century is closing I am going to my rest,
Lord, lettest Thou Thy servant go in peace.
But loud through all the bugles rings a cadence in mine ear,
And on the winds my hopes of peace are strowed.
Those winds that waft the voices that already I can hear
Of the rooi-baatjes singing on the road.
Yes, the red-coats are returning, I can hear the steady tramp,
My Highest Gratitude
Is never in solitude
wonder what this day would bring
sure, this my person uttered,
after my daily devoty
whatever it may be,
I'll always be grateful to Thee
'Est unusquisque faber ipsae suae fortunae' ['Ognuno è artefice del proprio destino'] ['Everyone is the architect of his own destiny']
Our death is in the cool of night,
our life is in the pool of day.
The darkness glows, I’m drowning,
the day has tired me with light.
Over my head in leaves grown deep,
sings the young nightingale.
It only sings of love there,
I hear it in my sleep.
Cats no less liquid than their shadows
Offer no angles to the wind.
They slip, diminished, neat through loopholes
Less than themselves; will not be pinned
To rules or routes for journeys; counter
Attack with non-resistance; twist
Enticing through the curving fingers
And leave an angered empty fist.
So fragile is a loving heart
That breaks in two as loved ones depart
To long for them each passing day
To yearn for them in every way.
So blue is the sky on a flawless summer's day
That fills our heart with thoughts so gay
To sit beneath that bright full sun
Remembering days when life was fun.
'Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.'
Your presence is near
I wish you were here
1. Take a shower you don't want to smell.
2. Pick out an outfit that will blend in with the latest trends and won't make you a laughing stock of the school more than you already are
3. Put on some makeup so you can't even recognize yourself and your face tingles with an unbelievable issue. You can't satisfy otherwise you'll have ruined the hours of meticulous painting you apply to your face.
I will never forget you my dearest soulmate..
these old meomries will never fade...
you've always laid me in your shade...
whenever I trembled or felt afraid....
Poetry is sexy
Its lyrics aim to please
............sitting here in the stillness
...............staring out the window
...at darkness my friend and my foe.
My pan head
Mine you are
And Yours I am
Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest ce jour-là
Et tu marchais souriante
Épanouie ravie ruisselante
you put this pen
in my hand and you
take the pen from you put this pen
On this dry prepared path walk heavy feet.
This is not "dinner music." This is a power structure.
"Come, pretty birds, present your lays,
And learn to chaunt a goddess praise;
Ye wood-nymphs, let your voices be
Employ'd to serve her deity:
If you had the choice of two women to wed,
(Though of course the idea is quite absurd)
And the first from her heels to her dainty head
Was charming in every sense of the word:
A little while, a little while,
The weary task is put away,
And I can sing and I can smile,
Alike, while I have holiday.