Quotes about disarm, page 7
The Picture of Little T. C. in a Prospect of Flowers
SEE with what simplicity
This nymph begins her golden days!
In the green grass she loves to lie,
And there with her fair aspect tames
The wilder flowers, and gives them names;
But only with the roses plays,
And them does tell
What colour best becomes them, and what smell.
Who can foretell for what high cause
This darling of the gods was born?
Yet this is she whose chaster laws
The wanton Love shall one day fear,
And, under her command severe,
See his bow broke and ensigns torn.
Happy who can
Appease this virtuous enemy of man!
O then let me in time compound
And parley with those conquering eyes,
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poem by Andrew Marvell
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Ode V: Against Suspicion
I.
Oh fly! 'tis dire Suspicion's mien;
And, meditating plagues unseen,
The sorceress hither bends:
Behold her torch in gall imbrued:
Behold — her garment drops with blood
Of lovers and of friends.
II.
Fly far! Already in your eyes
I see a pale suffusion rise;
And soon through every vein,
Soon will her secret venom spread,
And all your heart and all your head
Imbibe the potent stain.
III.
Then many a demon will she raise
To vex your sleep, to haunt your ways;
While gleams of lost delight
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poem by Mark Akenside
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An Ode For St. Cecilia's Day
I.
Prepare the hallow'd strain, My Muse,
Thy softest sounds and sweetest numbrs chuse;
the bright Cecilia's praise rehearse,
In warbling words,a nd glittering verse,
that smootly run into a song,
and gently die away,and melt upon the tongue.
II.
First let the sprightly violin
The joyful melody begin,
And none of all her strings be mute,
while the sharp sound and shriller lay
In sweet harmonious notes decay,
Soften and mellow'd by the flute.
'The Flute that sweetly can complain,
'Disolve the frozen nymph's disdain;
'Panting sympathy impart,
'Till she partake of her lover's smart.'
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poem by Joseph Addison
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To The Painter Of An Ill-drawn Picture of Cleone
Sooner I'd praise a Cloud which Light beguiles,
Than thy rash Hand which robs this Face of Smiles;
And does that sweet and pleasing Air control,
Which to us paints the fair CLEONE's Soul.
'Tis vain to boast of Rules or labour'd Art;
I miss the Look that captivates my Heart,
Attracts my Love, and tender Thoughts inspires;
Nor can my Breast be warm'd by common Fires;
Nor can ARDELIA love but where she first admires.
Like Jupiter's, thy Head was sure in Pain
When this Virago struggl'd in thy Brain;
And strange it is, thou hast not made her wield
A mortal Dart, or penetrating Shield,
Giving that Hand of disproportion'd size
The Pow'r, of which thou hast disarm'd her Eyes:
As if, like Amazons, she must oppose,
And into Lovers force her vanquish'd Foes.
Had to THEANOR thus her Form been shown
To gain her Heart, he had not lost his own;
Nor, by the gentlest Bands of Human Life,
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poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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While I Gaze In Your Eyes
While I gaze in your eyes, cool cerulean blue,
Sifting night, straining stars through morning's sweet dew,
I can fathom the depths of empyreal skies,
Angels fluttering by, riding wild butterflies
While I gaze in your eyes, changing, aqua-blue greening,
I'm sucked into chasms, cascading, careening,
And yield to enticements which meekly disarm,
Seeping virtuous beauty, sad sensuous charm
While I gaze in your eyes, bleeding fiery blue
Ever tempting with treasures, with pleasures for two,
Being caught at the core of a blazing sapphire
Possessing, enthralling, aflame with desire
While I gaze in your eyes, misty emeralds, deep green,
Veiling laughter and banter, and echoes between,
Then I dream, so it seems, in whatever the place,
Of your scent, of your breath, of your radiant face
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poem by Terry O'Leary
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A Nocturnal Reverie
In such a Night, when every louder Wind
Is to its distant Cavern safe confin'd;
And only gentle Zephyr fans his Wings, {1}
And lonely Philomel, still waking, sings; {2}
Or from some Tree, fam'd for the Owl's delight,
She, hollowing clear, directs the Wand'rer right:
In such a Night, when passing Clouds give place,
Or thinly vail the Heav'ns mysterious Face;
When in some River, overhung with Green,
The waving Moon and trembling Leaves are seen;
When freshen'd Grass now bears it self upright,
And makes cool Banks to pleasing Rest invite,
Whence springs the Woodbind, and the Bramble–Rose,
And where the sleepy Cowslip shelter'd grows;
Whilst now a paler Hue the Foxglove takes,
Yet checquers still with Red the dusky brakes:
When scattered Glow-worms, but in Twilight fine,
Shew trivial Beauties watch their Hour to shine;
Whilst Salisb'ry stands the Test of every Light, {3}
In perfect Charms, and perfect Virtue bright:
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poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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The Sun Hath Twice
The sun hath twice brought forth the tender green,
And clad the earth in lively lustiness;
Once have the winds the trees despoiled clean,
And now again begins their cruelness,
Since I have hid under my breast the harm
That never shall recover healthfulness.
The winter's hurt recovers with the warm;
The parched green restored is with shade;
What warmth, alas, may serve for to disarm
The frozen heart that mine in flame hath made?
What cold again is able to restore
My fresh green years that wither thus and fade?
Alas, I see nothing to hurt so sore
But time sometime reduceth a return;
Yet time my harm increaseth more and more,
And seem to have my cure always in scorn.
Strange kind of death in life that I do try,
At hand to melt, far off in flame to burn;
And like as time list to my cure apply,
So doth each place my comfort clean refuse.
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poem by Henry Howard
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F. W. C.
FAST as the rolling seasons bring
The hour of fate to those we love,
Each pearl that leaves the broken string
Is set in Friendship's crown above.
As narrower grows the earthly chain,
The circle widens in the sky;
These are our treasures that remain,
But those are stars that beam on high.
We miss--oh, how we miss!--his face,--
With trembling accents speak his name.
Earth cannot fill his shadowed place
From all her rolls of pride and fame;
Our song has lost the silvery thread
That carolled through his jocund lips;
Our laugh is mute, our smile is fled,
And all our sunshine in eclipse.
And what and whence the wondrous charm
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poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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The Guardian Angels
A Ballad
Father John in the green lane went
And he drew his robe full tight,
'I would,' quoth he, 'I were home again
For there's evil in the night.
'I would,' quoth he, 'the gold I bear
Were safe with the poor and old,
For strange the fear that follows me
That my eyes cannot behold.'
He looked him left and there he saw
A white rose climb and cling,
He looked him right and in the brake
A wild bird shook his wing.
He looked him back and far there stood
The old church tall and dim,
Yet on the lonely path there came
A terror strange to him.
Without the shadow of the trees
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poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
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Daphnis And Chloe
Daphnis must from Chloe part:
Now is come the dismal Hour
That must all his Hopes devour,
All his Labour, all his Art.
Nature, her own Sexes foe,
Long had taught her to be coy:
But she neither knew t' enjoy,
Nor yet let her Lover go.
But, with this sad News surpriz'd,
Soon she let that Niceness fall;
And would gladly yield to all,
So it had his stay compriz'd.
Nature so her self does use
To lay by her wonted State,
Left the World should separate;
Sudden Parting closer glews.
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poem by Andrew Marvell
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