Falsehood poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best falsehood poems ever written. Read all poems about falsehood.
O! nothing earthly save the ray
(Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty's eye,
As in those gardens where the day
Springs from the gems of Circassy-
The gold-hoarder walked in his palace park and with him walked his troubles. And over his head hovered worries as a vulture hovers over a carcass, until he reached a beautiful lake surrounded by magnificent marble statuary.
He sat there pondering the water which poured from the mouths of the statues like thoughts flowing freely from a lover's imagination, and contemplating heavily his palace which stood upon a knoll like a birth-mark upon the cheek of a maiden. His fancy revealed to him the pages of his life's drama which he read with falling tears that veiled his eyes and prevented him from viewing man's feeble additions to Nature.
The doubt of future foes exiles my present joy,
And wit me warns to shun such snares as threaten mine annoy;
For falsehood now doth flow, and subjects' faith doth ebb,
Which should not be if reason ruled or wisdom weaved the
Now thou hast loved me one whole day,
Tomorrow when thou leav'st, what wilt thou say?
Wilt thou then antedate some new-made vow?
Or say that now
Of old sat Freedom on the heights,
The thunders breaking at her feet:
Above her shook the starry lights:
She heard the torrents meet.
"Aug." 10, 1911.
Full moon to-night; and six and twenty years
Since my full moon first broke from angel spheres!
We, whose lungs fill with the sweetness of day.
Who in May admire trees flowering
Are better than those who perished.
I long to talk with some old lover's ghost,
Who died before the god of love was born.
I cannot think that he, who then lov'd most,
Sunk so low as to love one which did scorn.
Not understood, we move along asunder;
Our paths grow wider as the seasons creep
Along the years; we marvel and we wonder
Why life is life, and then we fall asleep
Upon this Primrose hill,
Where, if Heav'n would distil
A shower of rain, each several drop might go
To his own primrose, and grow manna so;
NOT in scorn do I reprove thee,
Not in pride thy vows I waive,
But, believe, I could not love thee,
Wert thou prince, and I a slave.
These, then, are thine oaths of passion ?
Kind pity chokes my spleen; brave scorn forbids
Those tears to issue which swell my eyelids;
I must not laugh, nor weep sins and be wise;
Can railing, then, cure these worn maladies?
Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,
That crown the watry glade,
Where grateful ScienceÊ still adores
Her Henry'sÊ holy shade;
And yeÊ that from the stately brow
And the first grey of morning fill'd the east,
And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream.
But all the Tartar camp along the stream
Was hush'd, and still the men were plunged in sleep;
THE FIRST BOOK
I, WHO erewhile the happy Garden sung
By one man's disobedience lost, now sing
Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes
That they behold and see not what they see?
They know what beauty is, see where it lies,
Yet what the best is, take the worst to be.
No. It's an impudent falsehood. Men did not
Invariably think the newer way Prosaic
mad, inelegant, or what not.
Truth And Falsehood 2
October 6, 2023
As, up the truth comes
Choosing The Truth
August 5, 2023
In the earth, the truth is
Truth & Falsehood
April 22, 2023
Falsehood fears of truth
He learned the art to lure one and all
his sweet talks are mere plans
he is eloquent and smart
he thinks all are naïve
Dear Miss Austen, What heartfelt joy, Those English lives that you employ. To act and dance upon the stage, Their schemes of Love they so engage. Dear Miss Austen, How so it's true, From out the page you're children grew. And though the birth was yours alone, The custom being your name unknown. For with Darcy's pride and Lizzy's distain, You weaved their tale to lasting fame. And how the Dashwoods from home cast out, Had steeled their Hearts against falsehood and doubt. But fate that traitor had moved again, To wound and still your unfledged pen. Now; cast in stone by time inscribed, The World does bow to England's pride.
Nobody believes me,
Softly falling feathers
A vivacious red that stems
From the thorns of the past
The blood of yesterday
The defeat of man
Mohammad Zafar Sadek
Running now, running too
All about truth
I would like to say
Through extensive discussion.
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