Quotes about laden, page 3
A Litany of Lethe
O Lethe, hidden waters never dry,
We, all we weary and heavy-laden, cry,
O Lethe, let us find thee and forget!
--All we have sinnèd, and yet the scars remain.
--And we, all we had sorrow.--And we had pain.
O Lethe, let us find thee and forget!
Thou that dost flow from Death to Death through Sleep,
Whose waters are the tears of those that weep,
O Lethe, let us find thee and forget!
Thou that dost bring sweet peace to hospitals,
And to the captive openest prison-walls,
O Lethe, let us find thee and forget!
Thou that dost loose the soul from murdered Truth,
And youth from yesterday, and age from youth,
O Lethe, let us find thee and forget!
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poem by Arthur Symons
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The Golden Year!
When piped the love-warm throstle shrill,
And all the air was laden
With scent of dew and daffodil,
I saw a youth and maiden,
Whose colour, Spring-like, came and fled,
'Mong purple copses straying,
While birchen tassels overhead
Like marriage-bells kept swaying;
Filled with that joy that lingers still,
Which Eve brought out of Aiden,-
With scent of dew and daffodil
When all the air was laden.
When primrose banks turn pale and fade,
And meads wax deep and golden,
And in lush dale and laughing glade
Summer's gay Court is holden,
Them, nestling close, again I saw,
Affianced girl and lover,
She looking up with eyes of awe
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poem by Alfred Austin
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The Sea-Voyage
MANY a day and night my bark stood ready laden;
Waiting fav'ring winds, I sat with true friends round me,
Pledging me to patience and to courage,
In the haven.
And they spoke thus with impatience twofold:
"Gladly pray we for thy rapid passage,
Gladly for thy happy voyage; fortune
In the distant world is waiting for thee,
In our arms thoult find thy prize, and love too,
When returning."
And when morning came, arose an uproar,
And the sailors' joyous shouts awoke us;
All was stirring, all was living, moving,
Bent on sailing with the first kind zephyr.
And the sails soon in the breeze are swelling,
And the sun with fiery love invites us;
Fill'd the sails are, clouds on high are floating,
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poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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An Indian Summer of My Childhood
The sun would volley
Live coals on bodies
In threadbare clothes
The sun would blink
Through the meager waters
That’s left of a river
Sand dunes with scanty vegetation
Scattered all over
The small raft wouldn’t move
On thin layer of water
Where did the fish disappear?
Bedrooms shifted to isolated
Shades under trees
Leaves perspiring and choking
Under the smarting sun
The fires set ablaze to settle scores
Around the town increased
The mercury in the thermometer
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poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Her Open Lips
Through all the struggling with my sister
i started to kiss her open lips
and knead my sisters breast through the bra
and her blouse, and her panties open FULL became.
and just you read wanting more and more.
The sensation was too much for her
and she slowly started to relax
allowing me to play with her body
when her milk laden breast started to leak.
I was so thirsty and my too was jutting out under her shorts.
The moment I felt my sisters breast milk in my hands
I lifted the loose end of the Saree
and started to open her blouse looks pale rich fully
while my sister tried to prevent me.
Removing the hooks was too tedious, 'so I caught hold of her blouse
and tore at it, ripping it with the eye teeth.
The act shocked and excited my sister and she gave a loud gasp.
Then I pulled the bra up exposing both
the white milk laden breast with the dark chocolate nipples
and big aureoles. I groped both the breast with my hands and my lips descended to the nipples.
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poem by Gut Master
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The Wood Fairy’s Well
“Thou hast been to the forest, thou sorrowing maiden,
Where Summer reigns Queen in her fairest array,
Where the green earth with sunshine and fragrance is laden,
And birds make sweet music throughout the long day.
Each step thou hast taken has been over flowers,
Of forms full of beauty—of perfumes most rare,
Why comest thou home, then, with footsteps so weary,
No smiles on thy lip, and no buds in thy hair?”
“Ah! my walk through the wild-wood has been full of sadness,
My thoughts were with him who there oft used to rove,
That stranger with bright eyes and smiles full of gladness
Who first taught my young heart the power of love.
He had promised to come to me ere the bright summer
With roses and sunshine had decked hill and lea.
I, simple and trusting, believed in that promise,
But summer has come, and, alas! where is he?”
“Yes, simple and trusting—ah! child, the old story!
Say, when will thy sex learn that man can forget?
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poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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A suicidal way
I wished if I were dead
The sentence could easily be read
Where it can take us or lead?
It can’t work out even if you plead
Once that idea enters mind
You can’t think easily and find
You may develop defeatist tendency
It may add up to more frequency
You act as living dead
You loose the sense to feed
You have no desire to continue
You may be perturbed all the times over new avenues
How does develop the suicidal tendency?
Does that lead a person to ask for mercy?
He may think of ending all of sudden
He is occupied in mind with worries laden
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A Prayer For Artemis
STROPHE IV
Though Zeus plan all things right,
Yet is his heart's desire full hard to trace;
Nathless in every place
Brightly it gleameth, e'en in darkest night,
Fraught with black fate to man's speech-gifted race.
ANTISTROPHE IV
Steadfast, ne'er thrown in fight,
The deed in brow of Zeus to ripeness brought;
For wrapt in shadowy night,
Tangled, unscanned by mortal sight,
Extend the pathways of his secret thought.
STROPHE V
From towering hopes mortals he hurleth prone
To utter doom; but for their fall
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poem by Aeschylus
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La Pipe (The Pipe)
Je suis la pipe d'un auteur;
On voit, à contempler ma mine
D'Abyssinienne ou de Cafrine,
Que mon maître est un grand fumeur.
Quand il est comblé de douleur,
Je fume comme la chaumine
Où se prépare la cuisine
Pour le retour du laboureur.
J'enlace et je berce son âme
Dans le réseau mobile et bleu
Qui monte de ma bouche en feu,
Et je roule un puissant dictame
Qui charme son coeur et guérit
De ses fatigues son esprit.
The Pipe
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poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Mahabharata, Book XI - Kuru Women Visit The Battle-Field
Spake the ancient Dhrita-rashtra, father of a hundred sons,
Sonless now and sorrow-stricken, dark his ebbing life-tide runs:
'Gods fulfil my life's last wishes! Henchmen, yoke my royal car,
Dhrita-rashtra meets his princes in the silent field of war,
Speed unto the Queen Gandhari, to the dames of Kuru's house,
To each dear departed warrior wends his fair and faithful spouse! '
Queen Gandhari sorrow-laden with the ancient Pritha came,
And each weeping widowed princess and each wailing childless dame,
And they saw the hoary monarch, father of a perished race,
Fresh and loud awoke their sorrow, welling tears suffused their face,
Good Vidura ever gentle whispered comfort unto all,
Placed the dames within their chariots, left Hastina's palace hall!
Loud the wail of woe and sorrow rose from every Kuru house,
Children wept beside their mothers for each widowed royal spouse,
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poem by Veda Vyasa
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