Quotes about girth, page 2
Uncle Ned’s Tale: An Old Dragoon's Story
I OFTEN, musing, wander back to days long since gone by,
And far-off scenes and long-lost forms arise to fancy's eye.
A group familiar now I see, who all but one are fled,—
My mother, sister Jane, myself, and dear old Uncle Ned.
I'll tell you how I see them now. First, mother in her chair
Sits knitting by the parlor fire, with anxious matron air;
My sister Jane, just nine years old, is seated at her feet,
With look demure, as if she, too, were thinking how to meet
The butcher's or the baker's bill,—though not a thought has she
Of aught beside her girlish toys; and next to her I see
Myself, a sturdy lad of twelve,—neglectful of the book
That open lies upon my knee,—my fixed admiring look
At Uncle Ned, upon the left, whose upright, martial mien,
Whose empty sleeve and gray mustache, proclaim what he has been.
My mother I had always loved; my father then was dead;
But 'twas more than love—'twas worship—I felt for Uncle Ned.
Such tales he had of battle-fields,—the victory and the rout,
The ringing cheer, the dying shriek, the loud exulting shout!
And how, forgetting age and wounds, his eye would kindle bright,
When telling of some desperate ride or close and deadly fight!
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poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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The Plea Of The Midsummer Fairies
I
'Twas in that mellow season of the year
When the hot sun singes the yellow leaves
Till they be gold,—and with a broader sphere
The Moon looks down on Ceres and her sheaves;
When more abundantly the spider weaves,
And the cold wind breathes from a chillier clime;—
That forth I fared, on one of those still eves,
Touch'd with the dewy sadness of the time,
To think how the bright months had spent their prime,
II
So that, wherever I address'd my way,
I seem'd to track the melancholy feet
Of him that is the Father of Decay,
And spoils at once the sour weed and the sweet;—
Wherefore regretfully I made retreat
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poem by Thomas Hood
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The Talking Oak
Once more the gate behind me falls;
Once more before my face
I see the moulder'd Abbey-walls,
That stand within the chace.
Beyond the lodge the city lies,
Beneath its drift of smoke;
And ah! with what delighted eyes
I turn to yonder oak.
For when my passion first began,
Ere that, which in me burn'd,
The love, that makes me thrice a man,
Could hope itself return'd;
To yonder oak within the field
I spoke without restraint,
And with a larger faith appeal'd
Than Papist unto Saint.
[...] Read more
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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An unprintable reflection on the current diet of Spam
God as Intelligent Designer
made the banana
of a suitable length and girth
for ladies to consume without mirth.
Must we now consider
mouth-enhancement,
or other measures?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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My diminished girth, in tailor phraseology, was hardly conceivable even by my own friends, or my respected medical adviser, until I put on my former clothing, over what I now wear, which is a thoroughly convincing proof of the remarkable change.
quote by William Banting
Added by Lucian Velea
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And You Neve Say You Love Me
The moon shines her love on the darkened girth,
The magic of night fall pulls into the twilight zone,
Dreams of you sleep with me, ,
The dawn brings the daylight to the night
The sun ray's his love on mother earth.
Our love has had its dawn,
Has the dusk darkened thee?
For you never say you love me
poem by Ken e Hall
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And You Never Say You love Me
The moon shines her love on the darkened girth,
The magic of night fall pulls into the twilight zone,
Dreams of you sleep with me, ,
The dawn brings the daylight to null the night
The sun ray's his love on mother earth.
Our love has had its dawn,
Has the dusk darkened thee?
For you never say you love me.
poem by Ken e Hall
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My Wife and The Other Man
My wife is having
a relationship with
the bank manager
those extra three inches,
that 20% increase in girth,
those 18 hours of
chemically induced
extended pleasure
come courtesy of
the overdraft sanctioned by
the bank manager whose
smug image comes to mind
at the most ecstatic and
inappropriate moments
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Bourne
Underneath the growing grass,
Underneath the living flowers,
Deeper than the sound of showers:
There we shall not count the hours
By the shadows as they pass.
Youth and health will be but vain,
Beauty reckoned of no worth:
There a very little girth
Can hold round what once the earth
Seemed too narrow to contain.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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You Too Look So Cute And Beautiful!
I see you since your birth,
You seem to be so beautiful to me;
As the days, months and years pass by
You grow very well in height and girth!
Even though you are black in color
You too look so cute and beautiful!
Still you look very attractive
in different angle while I see!
? Yes, My dear Labrador 'Sweetie'! !
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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