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Another Way of Love

I

June was not over
Though past the full,
And the best of her roses
Had yet to blow,
When a man I know
(But shall not discover,
Since ears are dull,
And time discloses)
Turned him and said with a man's true air,
Half sighing a smile in a yawn, as 'twere,—
"If I tire of your June, will she greatly care?"

II

Well, dear, in-doors with you!
True! serene deadness
Tries a man's temper.

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poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
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No rejection

‘I love cow.’ said I to her
for its feminineness.
‘I too, for its piousness.’ said she.

‘I love doe’s eyes.’ said I further,
intending her own eyes.
‘Yes, for its innocence.’ was her reply.

I averred, ‘I love jasmine.’
Meaning its sexy odour.
She replied, ‘I offer it to the God.’

Desperate in my attempts,
I said, ‘I love women.’
‘Yes, for her motherhood.’

I was greatly confused
If she pretends or prevent,
If she evades or avoids.

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poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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My Love Story

There is a girl in my life,
she's someone so close to my heart.
i hold her dear and high,
for she brings light to my dark night.

I can remember vividly the first day i met her,
i was stunned greatly for she holds the beauty of the sky.
her smile was so mild, even nature would blush at sight
no wonder all the boy wanted her to be thier's in class.

I manoeuvered my way into her life,
and she accepted me with open arms.
everyday i sit quiet just to watch her smile,
for i was mesmerised greatly by her beauty charm.

As time passed, we became best of friends
life became sweet, for her smile wiped my tears.
there is no friend who captured my heart like her,
for she's as mild as the stars in the sky.

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poem by Randy Micheal
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Most Beautiful One

Tell me, why isn't there any more room left in your heart,
Most beautiful one of them all?
when you can't be found, the whole world falls apart.
Most beautiful one of them all.

It saddened me greatly,
like bridesmaids or daisies,
you told me you loved me not.
Now, I won't get my fill,
I have lost my free will
to the most beautiful one of them all.

I'll send a quick cable
as soon as I'm able
most beautiful one of them all.
In it, I'll tell you I'm fine,
while I'm losing my mind.
Most beautiful one of them all.

For a peck on the lips,

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poem by Buddy Bee Anthony
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Ulysses

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
Life to the lees. All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea. I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known,-- cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honor'd of them all,--
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades

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poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Phillada flouts Me

O WHAT a plague is love!
   How shall I bear it?
She will inconstant prove,
   I greatly fear it.
She so torments my mind
   That my strength faileth,
And wavers with the wind
   As a ship saileth.
Please her the best I may,
She loves still to gainsay;
Alack and well-a-day!
   Phillada flouts me.

At the fair yesterday
   She did pass by me;
She look'd another way
   And would not spy me:
I woo'd her for to dine,
   But could not get her;
Will had her to the wine--

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poem by Anonymous
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The Ashantee War

'Twas in the year of 1874, and on New Year's Day,
The British Army landed at Elmina without dismay,
And numbering in all, 1400 bayonets strong,
And all along the Cape Coast they fearlessly marched along,
Under the command of Sir Garnet Wolseley, a hero bold,
And an honour to his King and country, be it told.
And between them and Coomassie, lay a wilderness of jungle,
But they marched on boldly without making a stumble,
And under a tropical sun, upwards of an hundred miles,
While their bayonets shone bright as they marched on in files.

Coomassie had to be reached and King Coffee's power destroyed,
And, before that was done the British were greatly annoyed,
Lieutenant Lord Gifford, with his men gained the Crest of the Adenisi Hills,
And when they gained the top, with joy their hearts fills.

Sir John McLeod was appointed General of the Black Brigade;
And a great slaughter of the enemy they made,
And took possession of an Ashantee village,
And fought like lions in a fearful rage.

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poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The Pimlico Pavilion

Ye pathrons of janius, Minerva and Vanius,
Who sit on Parnassus, that mountain of snow,
Descind from your station and make observation
Of the Prince's pavilion in sweet Pimlico.

This garden, by jakurs, is forty poor acres,
(The garner he tould me, and sure ought to know
And yet greatly bigger, in size and in figure,
Than the Phanix itself, seems the Park Pimlico.

O 'tis there that the spoort is, when the Queen and the Court is
Walking magnanimous all of a row,
Forgetful what state is among the pataties
And the pine-apple gardens of sweet Pimlico.

There in blossoms odorous the birds sing a chorus,
Of 'God save the Queen' as they hop to and fro;
And you sit on the binches and hark to the finches,
Singing melodious in sweet Pimlico.

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poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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A Song in Time of Revolution. 1860

THE HEART of the rulers is sick, and the high-priest covers his head:
For this is the song of the quick that is heard in the ears of the dead.

The poor and the halt and the blind are keen and mighty and fleet:
Like the noise of the blowing of wind is the sound of the noise of their feet.

The wind has the sound of a laugh in the clamour of days and of deeds:
The priests are scattered like chaff, and the rulers broken like reeds.

The high-priest sick from qualms, with his raiment bloodily dashed;
The thief with branded palms, and the liar with cheeks abashed.

They are smitten, they tremble greatly, they are pained for their pleasant things:
For the house of the priests made stately, and the might in the mouth of the kings.

They are grieved and greatly afraid; they are taken, they shall not flee:
For the heart of the nations is made as the strength of the springs of the sea.

They were fair in the grace of gold, they walked with delicate feet:
They were clothed with the cunning of old, and the smell of their garments was sweet.

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poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Feet

Listen you! This concerns us all;
Poor, wealthy, kind and cruel.
So necessary, yet so neglected;
Greatly used, poorly acknowledged.
Brain, heart, stomach and hand,
Eyes, Tongue and all manner of meat
Sacrifice your pride you lofty band
And pay what is owed to the working feet.

'Why should I hearken? ' remarks the brain,
'I am our memories, knowledge and power.
To me give your ears and from this foolishness refrain
Lest you should stray from hearing my answer.
I, the master, you, my slaves,
I am told what occurs, I tell you what to do.
Without me, you are useless knaves,
So I bid you, ignore that voice untrue! '

'Why should I care? ' purrs the small heart,
'I give our joy, our love and more,

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poem by Mark Challenger
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