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Endymion: Book III

There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men
With most prevailing tinsel: who unpen
Their baaing vanities, to browse away
The comfortable green and juicy hay
From human pastures; or, O torturing fact!
Who, through an idiot blink, will see unpack'd
Fire-branded foxes to sear up and singe
Our gold and ripe-ear'd hopes. With not one tinge
Of sanctuary splendour, not a sight
Able to face an owl's, they still are dight
By the blear-eyed nations in empurpled vests,
And crowns, and turbans. With unladen breasts,
Save of blown self-applause, they proudly mount
To their spirit's perch, their being's high account,
Their tiptop nothings, their dull skies, their thrones--
Amid the fierce intoxicating tones
Of trumpets, shoutings, and belabour'd drums,
And sudden cannon. Ah! how all this hums,
In wakeful ears, like uproar past and gone--
Like thunder clouds that spake to Babylon,

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poem by John Keats
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Third Book

'TO-DAY thou girdest up thy loins thyself,
And goest where thou wouldest: presently
Others shall gird thee,' said the Lord, 'to go
Where thou would'st not.' He spoke to Peter thus,
To signify the death which he should die
When crucified head downwards.
If He spoke
To Peter then, He speaks to us the same;
The word suits many different martyrdoms,
And signifies a multiform of death,
Although we scarcely die apostles, we,
And have mislaid the keys of heaven and earth.

For tis not in mere death that men die most;
And, after our first girding of the loins
In youth's fine linen and fair broidery,
To run up hill and meet the rising sun,
We are apt to sit tired, patient as a fool,
While others gird us with the violent bands
Of social figments, feints, and formalisms,

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poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Undying One- Canto III

'THERE is a sound the autumn wind doth make
Howling and moaning, listlessly and low:
Methinks that to a heart that ought to break
All the earth's voices seem to murmur so.
The visions that crost
Our path in light--
The things that we lost
In the dim dark night--
The faces for which we vainly yearn--
The voices whose tones will not return--
That low sad wailing breeze doth bring
Borne on its swift and rushing wing.
Have ye sat alone when that wind was loud,
And the moon shone dim from the wintry cloud?
When the fire was quench'd on your lonely hearth,
And the voices were still which spoke of mirth?

If such an evening, tho' but one,
It hath been yours to spend alone--
Never,--though years may roll along

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poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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The Tower Beyond Tragedy

I
You'd never have thought the Queen was Helen's sister- Troy's
burning-flower from Sparta, the beautiful sea-flower
Cut in clear stone, crowned with the fragrant golden mane, she
the ageless, the uncontaminable-
This Clytemnestra was her sister, low-statured, fierce-lipped, not
dark nor blonde, greenish-gray-eyed,
Sinewed with strength, you saw, under the purple folds of the
queen-cloak, but craftier than queenly,
Standing between the gilded wooden porch-pillars, great steps of
stone above the steep street,
Awaiting the King.
Most of his men were quartered on the town;
he, clanking bronze, with fifty
And certain captives, came to the stair. The Queen's men were
a hundred in the street and a hundred
Lining the ramp, eighty on the great flags of the porch; she
raising her white arms the spear-butts
Thundered on the stone, and the shields clashed; eight shining
clarions

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poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Tamar

I
A night the half-moon was like a dancing-girl,
No, like a drunkard's last half-dollar
Shoved on the polished bar of the eastern hill-range,
Young Cauldwell rode his pony along the sea-cliff;
When she stopped, spurred; when she trembled, drove
The teeth of the little jagged wheels so deep
They tasted blood; the mare with four slim hooves
On a foot of ground pivoted like a top,
Jumped from the crumble of sod, went down, caught, slipped;
Then, the quick frenzy finished, stiffening herself
Slid with her drunken rider down the ledges,
Shot from sheer rock and broke
Her life out on the rounded tidal boulders.

The night you know accepted with no show of emotion the little
accident; grave Orion
Moved northwest from the naked shore, the moon moved to
meridian, the slow pulse of the ocean
Beat, the slow tide came in across the slippery stones; it drowned

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poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Talent and Knowledge..

/* These are some verses based on a story in Ramayana */

Once there was a Rishi
Learned of all the sages and seers!
Living in the depths of a forest with his Son
Continuing his research and experimentation!

Awed by his father’s knowledge power
His son desired to be his true heir!
To excel with knowledge in every sphere
But did not like all the learning rigor!

“Father, is there a way? ” he asked in doubt
For all your knowledge to sprout
In my brain with little or no effort
As learning makes me distraught!

“Knowledge is not in what we recite
Neither what we read nor what we write
Learning is all about getting into essence

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poem by TheBigThinkg Human
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Giving My Daughter Away to the Yang Family

I was sorrowful all day.
Even when I took a walk outdoors,
My sadness remained.
You are going to travel a long distance to be married.
Your light boat will go up a mighty river.
Unfortunately, you and your sister are motherless.
As I recall the past,
I wish I could have loved you more.
You have had to raise your sister.
When you parted,
You both cried endlessly.
When I saw you cry I was heartbroken.
However, for your happiness I cannot ask you to stay.
You have lacked a mother’s guidance since you were little,
So I worry whether you can serve your mother-in-law properly.
Fortunately, you are entrusted to a kind family.
I hope that your mother-in-law will treat you well
And not find fault with you.
Frugality should be promoted,
So why do you need a rich dowry?

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poem by Wei Yingwu
Added by Dan Costinaş
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He who is sorrowful can force himself to smile, but he who is glad cannot weep.

classic quote by Selma Lagerlof
Added by Lucian Velea
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More Than A One Night Stand

Oh what a sad sorrowful
Slow rhythm
Yet so sweet
'Neath your breast
Identical in time
With my pulse
For only you alone
Could know me this way

Slowly rolling over
To the newly created
Vacancy
Right next to me
You manage to break
The circle
And leave me
Less than whole

Agitated i open
My eyes

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poem by Theodora Onken
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Sorrowful and great is the artist's destiny.

quote by Franz Liszt
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