Quotes about feign, page 19
Song III
Have mercy on me, my Lord,
For a foe treds o'er me and strives
Mindfully that time and again
I be wearied by all adversity.
Cruelly he treds, proud in his throng,
Stifling me with cruelness undue;
Never's the day I'm free of him,
Nor is my night empty of grim fear.
Yet, be it day, be it night when
Pondrous fear doth oppress, kind Father,
Thou, my Defender, art my hope,
And in each need to the end shall be.
Whilst I, Lord, being assured
In Thy promises, neither blind
Human connivance, nor fierce threat,
Nor battle's dread would I fear.
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poem by Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski
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Karen
At her low quaint wheel she sits to spin,
Deftly drawing the long, light rolls
Of carded wool through her finders thin,
By the fireside at the Isles of Shoals.
She is not pretty, she is not young,
Poor homesick Karen, who sits and spins,
Humming a song in her tongue,
That falters and stops, and again begins,
While her wheel flies fast, with its drowsy hum,
And she makes a picture of pensive grace
As thoughts of her well-loved Norway come
And deepen the shadows across her face.
Her collar is white as the drifted snow,
And she spun and wove her blue gown fine
With those busy hands. See, a flitting glow
Makes her pale cheek burn and her dark eyes shine!
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poem by Celia Thaxter
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My Longing's Compare
I miss thee, as the Spring flowers crave the rain,
To beget thought otherwise, I could ne'er feign;
I long for thee, as leaves in Fall want for hues, obscured,
I have, at long last, found thee-my heart's jubilation, assured!
I want for thee, you are my heart's trusted tutelar-
An amorous feeling ne'er before felt, yet so famular!
I wait for thee, as the Summer waits for June;
Anticipation, as the night doth wait for the Moon!
As the Winter awaits its earnest renewal in December,
I look to a wondrous future, enamored by all I do remember!
Inspiration drawn, by all I see, in nature and its seasons,
The parallel drawn betwixt we two, but one of many reasons!
Soon, my beloved, wish and want shall turn to our unity-
Then, our abiding love shall become our eternity;
Though, only rivaled by time itself, to live in perpetuity-
This, a pittance of my love for thee, which dwells with sempiternity!
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poem by Maurice Harris
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Attic Key
When the transpiration of earliest dews
Failed to staid and invigorate
The amputated isthmus of the atrium
You would blithely shun
All the lovely, saccharine bones
Even the crunchy stride
Of the svelte V-formation
Of the veering migrating birds
Paving the soggy nimbuses
Of hapless shades and parasols
For they unfurl a reminder
Of capitulating abandonments
And like a wolf without a howl
You would aimlessly amble
With feet of morose
To cave inside, distraught,
In the clandestine dappled corners
Where the myriad of the dead
And the plenitude of dying breaths
Rattle uncouthly for
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poem by Norman Santos
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Elegy IV. Ophilia's Urn. To Mr. Graves
Through the dim veil of evening's dusky shade,
Near some lone fane, or yew's funereal green,
What dreary forms has magic Fear survey'd!
What shrouded spectres Superstition seen!
But you, secure, shall pour your sad complaint,
Nor dread the meagre phantom's wan array;
What none but Fear's officious hand can paint,
What none, but Superstition's eye, survey.
The glimmering twilight and the doubtful dawn
Shall see your step to these sad scenes return:
Constant, as crystal dews impearl the lawn,
Shall Strephon's tear bedew Ophelia's urn.
Sure nought unhallow'd shall presume to stray
Where sleep the relics of that virtuous maid;
Nor aught unlovely bend its devious way,
Where soft Ophelia's dear remains are laid.
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poem by William Shenstone
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An Answer to a Love-Letter, in Verse
Is it to me this sad lamenting strain?
Are Heaven's choicest gifts bestow'd in vain?
A plenteous fortune and a beauteous bride,
Your love rewarded, and content your pride;
Yet, leaving her, 'tis me that you pursue,
Without one single charm -- but being new.
How vile is man! How I detest the ways
Of covert falsehood and designing praise!
As tasteless, easier happiness you slight,
Ruin your joy, and mischief your delight.
Why should poor pug (the mimic of your kind)
Wear a rough chain, and be to box confin'd?
Some cup, perhaps, he breaks, or tears a fan,
While moves, unpunish'd, the destroyer man;
Not bound by vows, and unrestrain'd by shame,
In sport you break the heart, and rend the fame.
Not that your art can be successful here,
Th' already plunder'd need no robber fear.
Nor sighs nor charms, nor flattery, can move,
Too well secur'd against a second love.
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poem by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
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Carousels Before The War
In the silence of the station and its insatiable yearning
To be filled with tourists and passengers
And bludgeon obliviously to the familiar feeling
Roused by scent and warmth of their far-flung home,
Another tourist loitered juxtaposed the ticket booth
Careening over the burning rails of nostalgia
Because the calendar pages holds a succinct
Concern for the macabre in inertia
Her coruscating soul was plummeting from her lips
Waiting for the sleeping train to stir and growl
This tourist stared at me unwaveringly
With the tackling of her foreign eyes, rolled the dice
Like a steely glacial wheel chafing with the rails
And I could have feigned a fuming act
But I knew very well who this tourist was
She lives in my sala, behind the crumbling wallpapers
I stared back into the voids of oblivion
And in her skyscraping eyes, I saw thoroughly
The war before the sunrise slithering
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poem by Norman Santos
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New Friends (Ducks)
I recently went to the small town of Arundel,
And visited the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust.
I spent a relaxing few hours there strolling around.
If you haven’t already been, then you simply must.
After a while of strolling around,
I sat down to relax on a bench.
There were ducks under and around me,
Who had settled down and seemed quite content.
I sat watching tourists being taken
On a boat trip around the reed beds.
I was happy enough to sit watching the ducks:
Some, as they rested and some as they fed.
Sat there, I reached into my bag for a snack,
And, suddenly, dozens of pairs of eyes were on me.
The ducks dared to venture a little closer,
And made it obvious that they were extremely hungry.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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A Spring Bud
She was without her Spring
seeming born from childhood to only Winter Cold
and I was drawn to her for that reason, it seemed.
I'd hoped for a manufactured Autumn in her
from my own intense desire of it and that
could by mere exposure melt her glacial-ness
and she would then be unable to resist
the Fire I had in-born for her;
that mere proximity was translative to her breasts
to her glassy eyes, her breath in-drawn
by-passing her stony regard
and the challenge she took for anyone to reach
her inside ice-berg which floated on what must
have been the Arctic Seas her Soul sailed.
I drew near, more confused as to my being
prey or preyed and she watched me in her mind's eye
advance my hand slightly to feign to touch her's by mistake,
ready to embrace or withdraw and pretend it was all accident-
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A Jazzy Plumber Nibbled her Pride.
Did He create my heart for you proud to break?
Am I a pygmy for your jokes to crack?
Not your betrayal but your gossips on me hit
and rankled my heart.You can't save your face
and harp on harsh plots hatched with your grace.
Cheated by a plumbing techie, lorn you look.
Seeking words of comfort, around you look,
which you ignored when he shocked you with big break.
You feign worshipping God and say words of grace,
beseeching the heavenly blessings crack.
Slinging mud on me, you left with a false face.
I was mute and your rumours had no hit.
Road to success He makes everyone to hit
and sparks with ideas into which the boys look.
Slanders and insults heaped on me, you now face.
Your promise to marry me, you did break.
You failed to settle abroad in your first crack.
A plumber feigned as a techie had his grace.
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poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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