Quotes about revive, page 14
Advice to the Grub Street Verse-writers
Ye poets ragged and forlorn,
Down from your garrets haste;
Ye rhymers, dead as soon as born,
Not yet consign'd to paste;
I know a trick to make you thrive;
O, 'tis a quaint device:
Your still-born poems shall revive,
And scorn to wrap up spice.
Get all your verses printed fair,
Then let them well be dried;
And Curll must have a special care
To leave the margin wide.
Lend these to paper-sparing Pope;
And when he sets to write,
No letter with an envelope
Could give him more delight.
When Pope has fill'd the margins round,
Why then recall your loan;
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poem by Jonathan Swift
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I must do it now
One Cold Rainy Night
I sit in my room out of sight
I dont mean it by slight.
I look at a bottle of Pills and a knife
Wondering which one should end my life
I no longer want a life of strife
I must do it tonight
Before Midnight
When there tucked up in bed
So they dont find me.
I learned life isn't fair
And No one Cares
I pick up the knife
My life is done
One quick slash
And In a flash I'm on the floor
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poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Psalm 85 part 1
v.1-8
L. M.
Waiting for an answer to prayer; or, Deliverance begun and completed.
Lord, thou hast called thy grace to mind,
Thou hast reversed our heavy doom;
So God forgave when Isr'el sinned,
And brought his wand'ring captives home.
Thou hast begun to set us free,
And made thy fiercest wrath abate;
Now let our hearts be turned to thee,
And thy salvation be complete.
Revive our dying graces, Lord,
And let thy saints in thee rejoice;
Make known thy truth, fulfil thy word;
We wait for praise to tune our voice.
We wait to hear what God will say;
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poem by Isaac Watts
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Delia: XXXI (1592 version): Look, Delia, how we 'steem the
XXXI (
version)
Look, Delia, how we 'steem the half-blown rose,
The image of thy blush and summer's honour,
Whilst in her tender green she doth enclose
That pure sweet beauty time bestows upon her.
No sooner spreads her glory in the air
But straight her full-blown pride is in declining;
She then is scorn'd that late adorn'd the fair:
So clouds thy beauty after fairest shining.
No April can revive thy wither'd flowers,
Whose blooming grace adorns thy beauty now;
Swift speedy time, feather'd with flying hours,
Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow.
O let not then such riches waste in vain,
But love whilst that thou mayst be lov'd again.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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Thoughts
I gaze into the blazing sun, the summer sky.
The shades I wear to help me walk steadily by.
The smiles exchanged and memories do revive.
Pearls of wisdom that heal and I did survive.
Those ties not broken, mighty a strength I did find.
Runs through the memory of my ageing mind.
A sacred bond did blossom with sweet fragrance.
Earnestly with affection I did gracefully embrace.
My deepest darkest hour fed with the magical glow.
With ample happiness to gently overflow.
Purest gem that sparkles, never seen before.
Locked in my heart, treasured for ever more.
Precious thoughts that spread beyond eternity,
As I stroll along the earthly place with solemnity..
poem by Shirani Ibrahim
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I'm An Old Tree
Here is my beloved home
I'm an old tree
I grew up here
Here's where I belong
Here's the only place
Where I can face
In rough human race
Inspite of all difficulties and aches
Still I'm standing here
Here I've planted love seeds
I'm like an old trees
Don't take me off my root
My branches revive and sigh here
Since thousands and thousands of years
I'm an old tree that's living here
Inside these fields I've grew old
My branches and my leaves
Once they've born here
The only place they've been
How can I leave
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poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Modern Love XLV: It Is the Season
It is the season of the sweet wild rose,
My Lady's emblem in the heart of me!
So golden-crownèd shines she gloriously,
And with that softest dream of blood she glows:
Mild as an evening heaven round Hesper bright!
I pluck the flower, and smell it, and revive
The time when in her eyes I stood alive.
I seem to look upon it out of Night.
Here's Madam, stepping hastily. Her whims
Bid her demand the flower, which I let drop.
As I proceed, I feel her sharply stop,
And crush it under heel with trembling limbs.
She joins me in a cat-like way, and talks
Of company, and even condescends
To utter laughing scandal of old friends.
These are the summer days, and these our walks.
poem by George Meredith
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Still I Love To Rhyme
STILL I love to rhyme, and still more, rhyming, to wander
Far from the commoner way;
Old-time trills and falls by the brook-side still do I ponder,
Dreaming to-morrow to-day.
Come here, come, revive me, Sun-God, teach me, Apollo,
Measures descanted before;
Since I ancient verses, I emulous follow,
Prints in the marbles of yore.
Still strange, strange, they sound in old-young raiment invested,
Songs for the brain to forget -
Young song-birds elate to grave old temples benested
Piping and chirruping yet.
Thoughts? No thought has yet unskilled attempted to flutter
Trammelled so vilely in verse;
He who writes but aims at fame and his bread and his butter,
Won with a groan and a curse.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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A Sure Promise
Refreshing breeze, you waft across my brow,
Relaxing me so well, to thus allow
My mind to wander off in dreams, somehow,
To things of pleasure. All ascending now.
Dazzling sun, you wrap my frame with bliss,
Softening my heart, which then receives solace.
And filling my being with such a sure promise,
That I rise up from a darkening, deep abyss.
Unruffled moon, your light shines from afar,
Lifting the gloom along with each bright star.
Reflecting off the sunbeams own radar.
How wonderful your illuminations are.
Aqueous rain that launders all things new,
Feeding the ground and depositing the dew.
Revive my soul, and with clarity imbue,
As each droplet descends to its known rendezvous.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Most Powerful Poem Of Them All!
There's a poem stored in Heaven
Lord Jesus wrote one day,
For each child of God forgiven,
Lost lambs who went astray...
That poem borne of knowledge
And God-blessed prophecy
Would later grant Him courage
When He faced Calvary...
The words still echoed in His mind
Each time that He was whipped,
Reminding Him God loved Mankind
As even more flesh ripped...
The verses helped Him hold back tears
That lesser men would weep,
Enduring pain and mortal fears,
His sacrifice to keep...
The final verse kept faith alive
Because it was sublime,
It promised God would soon revive
The Lamb of God in time...
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poem by Denis Martindale
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