Quotes about sylvan, page 6
To His Lute
If ever in the sylvan shade
A song immortal we have made,
Come now, O lute, I prithee come,
Inspire a song of Latium!
A Lesbian first thy glories proved;
In arms and in repose he loved
To sweep thy dulcet strings, and raise
His voice in Love's and Liber's praise.
The Muses, too, and him who clings
To Mother Venus' apron-strings,
And Lycus beautiful, he sung
In those old days when you were young.
O shell, that art the ornament
Of Phoebus, bringing sweet content
To Jove, and soothing troubles all,--
Come and requite me, when I call!
poem by Eugene Field
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Kaumaram-4
Swamimalai-fourth of the six special
abodes of Lord Muruga
Be so the cause for Brahma's imprisonment
Nescient be Rishi Brigu's angst
Nescient even Thine father be
So angst Thine on nescience be
Cause be so for Thine preaching
So, so high up the sixty stairs crowned
O'Swaminatha, well, fair in aloof dignity
In sylvan pride upping more on an elephant
Fatherly to Thine father, a Guru Thyself be
In dazzling dangling decibels of 'Pranava'
Bow like bowing father Thine adown to hearken
Won't Thee to the flighting crescendo 'Vel Vel Vetrivel'
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Roderic Quinn
No more will Rod his lyrics sing,
As tuneful as the thrush when Spring
With minstrel voice is calling;
As joyous as the gentle chime
Of bellbirds in the Summertime
From sylvan spires down-falling.
The harp is mute from which he drew
The magic of a music new
Of woods and golden beaches;
Its silent strings tell ne'er again
Enraptured tales of hill and plain
And gleaming river reaches.
But this fair land shall ever be
Indebted to his minstrelsy,
So, written on the portal
Of Art's proud temple, will his name
Go down forevermore in fame
Untarnished and immortal.
poem by Edwin James Brady
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A Poem For Prolix
Tediously wordy.
the Latin prolixus
(extended, poured) ,
from liquere (to flow) ,
the source of words such as liquid,
liquor,
licorice.
Now do you see the connection - why consuming lots of Tanduay 65
make the teachers of Cancainap
prolix?
Let me try using the word,
No one has ever called her prolix.
At a seminar sponsored by the DECS,
Miss Manolita mumbled a few introductory words
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Outlaw To Me, Danny
Outlaw to me, Danny,
And I’ll become your thrall,
And we’ll both go romping,
Busting down the hall,
And we’ll go out shopping
Out in the sylvan glade,
And if we both get lucky,
Then we both get laid,
Underneath the vermilion angels
Hanging from the trees,
Where little girls spill from bicycles
Scraping both their knees,
Then we’ll both be wise men, graduating
At the end of the class,
While all the pretty freshmen go around
Kicking newer ass.
[...] Read more
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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O human fate
Wind blew, birds flew,
Left the nest vacant
In search of a safe place
To lay the eggs: nascent
In a deep dense forest,
Peacefully lay and rest,
Wait till new arrivals fest
Sylvan to greet innocent
Air, birds, water and cloud
They can move freely
Without visa and passport
We are caged in, we can't
Who has made the Nations
And why are we caged?
Who raised the unseen wall,
With guns that stops even saint?
[...] Read more
poem by Aftab Alam Khursheed
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Sonnet XIII: Bring, Brick to Deck My Brow
Bring, bring to deck my brow, ye Sylvan girls,
A roseate wreath; nor for my waving hair
The costly band of studded gems prepare,
Of sparkling crysolite or orient pearls:
Love, o'er my head his canopy unfurls,
His purple pinions fan the whisp'ring air;
Mocking the golden sandal, rich and rare,
Beneath my feet the fragrant woodbine curls.
Bring the thin robe, to fold about my breast,
White as the downy swan; while round my waist
Let leaves of glossy myrtle bind the vest,
Not idly gay, but elegantly chaste!
Love scorns the nymph in wanton trappings drest;
And charms the most concealed, are doubly grac'd.
poem by Mary Darby Robinson
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Amor Intellectualis
OFT have we trod the vales of Castaly
And heard sweet notes of sylvan music blown
From antique reeds to common folk unknown:
And often launched our bark upon that sea
Which the nine Muses hold in empery,
And ploughed free furrows through the wave and foam,
Nor spread reluctant sail for more safe home
Till we had freighted well our argosy.
Of which despoilèd treasures these remain,
Sordello's passion, and the honied line
Of young Endymion, lordly Tamburlaine
Driving his pampered jades, and more than these,
The seven-fold vision of the Florentine,
And grave-browed Milton's solemn harmonies.
poem by Oscar Wilde
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In The Harbour: The Four Lakes Of Madison
Four limpid lakes,--four Naiades
Or sylvan deities are these,
In flowing robes of azure dressed;
Four lovely handmaids, that uphold
Their shining mirrors, rimmed with gold,
To the fair city in the West.
By day the coursers of the sun
Drink of these waters as they run
Their swift diurnal round on high;
By night the constellations glow
Far down the hollow deeps below,
And glimmer in another sky.
Fair lakes, serene and full of light,
Fair town, arrayed in robes of white,
How visionary ye appear!
All like a floating landscape seems
In cloud-land or the land of dreams,
Bathed in a golden atmosphere!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Lights of London
The evenfall, so slow on hills, hath shot
Far down into the valley's cold extreme,
Untimely midnight; spire and roof and stream
Like fleeing spectres, shudder and are not.
The Hampstead hollies, from their sylvan plot
Yet cloudless, lean to watch as in a dream,
From chaos climb with many a sudden gleam,
London, one moment fallen and forgot.
Her booths begin to flare; and gases bright
Prick door and window; all her streets obscure
Sparkle and swarm with nothing true or sure,
Full as a marsh of mist and winking light;
Heaven thickens over, Heaven that cannot cure
Her tear by day, her fevered smile by night.
poem by Louise Imogen Guiney
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