Quotes about hose, page 11
Genoa and the Mediterranean (March, 1887)
O epic-famed, god-haunted Central Sea,
Heave careless of the deep wrong done to thee
When from Torino's track I saw thy face first flash on me.
And multimarbled Genova the Proud,
Gleam all unconscious how, wide-lipped, up-browed,
I first beheld thee clad--not as the Beauty but the Dowd.
Out from a deep-delved way my vision lit
On housebacks pink, green, ochreous--where a slit
Shoreward 'twixt row and row revealed the classic blue through it.
And thereacross waved fishwives' high-hung smocks,
Chrome kerchiefs, scarlet hose, darned underfrocks;
Since when too oft my dreams of thee, O Queen, that frippery mocks:
Whereat I grieve, Superba! . . . Afterhours
Within Palazzo Doria's orange bowers
Went far to mend these marrings of thy soul-subliming powers.
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poem by Thomas Hardy
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Female Fashions for 1799
A form, as any taper, fine ;
A head like half-pint bason ;
Where golden cords, and bands entwine,
As rich as fleece of JASON.
A pair of shoulders strong and wide,
Like country clown enlisting ;
Bare arms long dangling by the side,
And shoes of ragged listing !
Cravats like towels, thick and broad,
Long tippets made of bear-skin,
Muffs that a RUSSIAN might applaud,
And rouge to spoil a fair skin.
Long petticoats to hide the feet,
Silk hose with clocks of scarlet ;
A load of perfume, sick'ning sweet,
Bought of PARISIAN VARLET.
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poem by Mary Darby Robinson
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The Merciful God
He was a dreaded, notorious thief
Once in panic, went to the God's door-step
God was out in the garden site
watering the plants with a hose-pipeline.
The thief came running and fell at His feet
confessing his sins and wept at length
begging for his mercy and to make him refined
on his return, he promised to live as a saint.
But, God was hesitant and returned to His room
to consult his PC on the truth of his claim
The thief was alone watering the rest of the plants
hopefully waiting to win his merciful grants.
There in the third row, there was a dense orchard
all the leaves were 500 currency rupee notes
but he could not resist his age-old temper
tampered the leaves at will and kept on to plunder
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poem by Santhana Louis
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Locked Within A Jar
I'm capturing this moment.
Savoring it for my life time.
The anguish of the backwards clown.
All smiling faces turn upside down.
All because of me.
As I walk out of the room I know I did right.
They created a sickness.
They created a blight.
They created the most ugly sight.
A monster must be shown.
A monster must be known.
If that's what I am.
Let them be ashamed.
Because I'm happy and laughing.
At one time I was a child in a dark corner crying.
No defying the very fabric of a legacy.
That wasn't even created by me.
I most certainly lived it.
But their the ones who threw the stones.
Tore me down to the very core.
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poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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The Garment Of Good Ladies
Would my good Lady love me best,
And work after my will,
I should ane garment goodliest
Gar mak' her body till.
Of high honour should be her hood
Upon her head to wear,
Garnish'd with governance so good
No deeming should her deir.
Her sark should be, her body next,
Of chastity so white;
With shame and dread together mix'd,
The same should be perfyt.
Her kirtle should be of clear Constance,
Lasit with lesum love ,
The maillies of continuance,
For never to remove.
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poem by Robert Henryson
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All the World's a Stage
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
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poem by William Shakespeare
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Papal Limerick
A middle-aged nun from Sicilia
met a dancing girl, name of Cecilia.
When they switched off the light
it was dark in the night
and the nun said, Cecilia I feel ya.
They were hauled to front up to the Pope,
who was harsh and said 'clemency....Nope'.
then they prayed over tea
and the Pope said 'to me
there is method and madness in dope.'
So he took them into the great hall,
where huge carpets hung high on a wall,
in a locked cedar chest
they found what he liked best
that is all I can tellyou, tis all.
(Well I lied it's a common affliction) ,
which affects normal speech and one's diction,
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Never Too Old
You’re never too old to pop plastic bubbles
Never too old to have a twinkle in your eye
Never too old to stir up some trouble
Never too old til the day that you die
You’re never to old to sneak a few cookies
Never too old to give someone the ‘eye’
Never too old to like ‘Star Wars and Wookies’
Never too old til the day that you die
You’re never too old to enjoy a good dirty joke
Never too old to still wish you could fly
Never too old to think you could croak
Never too old til the day that you die
You’re never too old to splash thru a puddle
Never too old to watch a fire truck scream by
Never to old for tag football and to huddle
Never too old til the day that you die
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poem by David Whalen
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Jaques: All the world‘s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse‘s arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress‘ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon‘s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper‘d pantaloon,
[...] Read more
lines from As You Like It, Act II, Scene 7 by William Shakespeare (1599)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Winter Rhapsody
Winter has come; and tardily
Now little nipping winds are rife
Where laggard leaves, on many a tree,
Still cling tenaciously to life.
Spent Autumn with a myriad hues
Had laughed at death and mocked the worm.
And now bluff Winter shouts glad news
Of Winter joys, which I refuse,
I simply sit and squirm.
For Winter, too, holds many joys,
Pert flappers, furred to ears and chin,
With painted lips, to lure the boys,
And hose that lets the breezes in
Go laughing by . . . A gladness cleaves
E'en to yon toiler, who with firm,
Swift strokes, sweeps up the fallen leaves
And, working, whistles. . . . No Man grieves
Save I who sit and squirm.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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