Quotes about feign, page 18
Failures
When failures come, oh, do not fret;
For failures, you must not regret;
Through failures, one can turn perfect,
As failure isn’t a great defect!
Each failure gives us chance again;
Through failures, we have much to gain;
So, failures are a boon, not bane;
Yes, failures make a man much sane!
All cannot win in life always;
Set-backs do come to us some days;
With failures, one makes strong a base;
Our failures bestow bolder face!
With failures come, added wisdom;
’Tis hard to hold a large kingdom;
Failures in life are much welcome,
As successes will always come.
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poem by John Celes
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Envoy For "A Child's Garden Of Verses"
WHETHER upon the garden seat
You lounge with your uplifted feet
Under the May's whole Heaven of blue;
Or whether on the sofa you,
No grown up person being by,
Do some soft corner occupy;
Take you this volume in your hands
And enter into other lands,
For lo! (as children feign) suppose
You, hunting in the garden rows,
Or in the lumbered attic, or
The cellar - a nail-studded door
And dark, descending stairway found
That led to kingdoms underground:
There standing, you should hear with ease
Strange birds a-singing, or the trees
Swing in big robber woods, or bells
On many fairy citadels:
There passing through (a step or so -
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poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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The Chambered Nautilus
THIS is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,
Sails the unshadowed main,--
The venturous bark that flings
On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings
In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings,
And coral reefs lie bare,
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.
Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;
Wrecked is the ship of pearl!
And every chambered cell,
Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,
Before thee lies revealed,--
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!
Year after year beheld the silent toil
That spread his lustrous coil;
Still, as the spiral grew,
He left the past year's dwelling for the new,
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poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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For Catherine: Juana, Infanta of Navarre
Ferdinand was systematic when
he drove his daughter mad.
With a Casanova's careful art,
he moved slowly,
stole only one child at a time
through tunnels specially dug
behind the walls of her royal
chamber, then paid the Duenna
well to remember nothing
but his appreciation.
Imagine how quietly
the servants must have worked,
loosening the dirt, the muffled
ring of pick-ends against
the castle stone. The Duenna,
one eye gauging the drugged girl's
sleep, each night handing over
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poem by Erin Belieu
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One Day
One day, you will love me, as I do, you:
You will see the beautiful unity in us that I do!
One day, your heart's guard shall see its release:
Then you shall live in a magnificent, loving peace!
One day may come in the morrow, or perhaps in a year-
Its imminence is the only part that is not crystal clear!
It is this-the 'one day', for which I hold fast,
The day where my life shall truly begin, at long last!
The Book says: love is patient, love is kind-
These profoundly simple words do but serve to remind
Of the depths of my devotion to the same-
Love is not love, whence you need hasten its flame!
One day, you shall see all the beauty inherent in me,
Yet first, you need be wise to the beauty inherent in thee!
Look through mine own eyes, there you shall see clearly
Why you are my most beloved Angel, that I covet most dearly:
Explication defies mere word, yet through mine eyes, it doth obviate;
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poem by Maurice Harris
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The New World Order
Behold the world, this Earth, our home,
This marble and its moon
And how they've got all space to roam
Yet dance a preset tune...
Are we the same? Like puppets here?
Manipulated minds?
Who bears the blame for Mankind's fear
Which daily twists and binds?
Behold the times in which we live,
The super-rich and poor,
The Christian saints who seek to give
While populations soar...
Consider countries one-by-one,
Resources dwindling fast
And nothing new under the sun
That's truly meant to last...
Behold the future times ahead,
The days and nights unknown,
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poem by Denis Martindale
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My Mary
My Mary, O my Mary!
The simmer-skies are blue;
The dawnin' brings the dazzle,
An' the gloamin' brings the dew,--
The mirk o' nicht the glory
O' the moon, an' kindles, too,
The stars that shift aboon the lift.--
But nae thing brings me you!
Where is it, O my Mary,
Ye are biding a' the while?
I ha' wended by your window--
I ha' waited by the stile,
An' up an' down the river
I ha' won for mony a mile,
Yet never found, adrift or drown'd,
Your lang-belated smile.
Is it forgot, my Mary,
How glad we used to be?--
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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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To A Soldier In Hospital
Courage came to you with your boyhood's grace
Of ardent life and limb.
Each day new dangers steeled you to the test,
To ride, to climb, to swim.
Your hot blood taught you carelessness of death
With every breath.
So when you went to play another game
You could not but be brave:
An Empire's team, a rougher football field,
The end-perhaps your grave.
What matter? On the winning of a goal
You staked your soul.
Yes, you wore courage as you wore your youth
With carelessness and joy.
But in what Spartan school of discipline
Did you get patience, boy?
How did you learn to bear this long-drawn pain
And not complain?
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poem by Winifred Mary Letts
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Elegy I: Jealousy
Fond woman, which would'ſt have thy huſband die,
And yet complain'ſt of his great jealouſie;
If ſwolne with poyſon, hee lay in his laſt bed,
His body with a ſere-barke covered,
Drawing his breath, as quick and ſhort, as can
The nimbleſt crocheting Muſitian,
Ready with loathſome vomiting to ſpue
His Soule out of one hell, into a new,
Made deafe with his poore kindreds howling cries,
Begging with few feign'd teares great legacies,
Thou would'ſt not weep, but jolly, 'and frolicke bee,
As a ſlave, which to morrow ſhould be free.
Yet weep'ſt thou, when thou ſeeſt him hungerly
Swallow his owne death, hearts-bane jealouſie?
O give him many thanks, he is courteous,
That in ſuſpecting kindly warneth us.
Wee muſt not, as we us'd, flout openly,
In ſcoffing ridles, his deformitie;
Nor at his boord together being fatt,
With words, nor touch, ſcarce lookes, adulterate.
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poem by John Donne
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Soliloquy of a Tattooed Mind
In another extensive stretch of a night
Where your scarce body is drained of kinetic vigor
The thin frame too close to each other
You'll realize you're but hollow calcified bones
Thus, cold tiles are hostile without warranties
Against your vessel planked in supine
And the texts on the pages of your favorite books
Slurred with the sympathy you find in it
And the drags you take from the bitter cigarette never ends,
That you wished you were sapping novocaine instead
But then again, it's just a wishful thought of baleful intentions
To unsheathe a perfunctory chronicle:
A wan and pointless chronicle
You seek another friend in your mobile phone,
Only to find a mutual loneliness in your fingertips
Too charred from the brunt with no other resort
You address the voices bawling from the pillowcase
Let the sentries fumble in defeat,
The thunders will roll with the roar of deceit
That will send you back into your bed
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poem by Norman Santos
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