Quotes about allied, page 8
A Calendar of Sonnets: April
No days such honored days as these! While yet
Fair Aphrodite reigned, men seeking wide
For some fair thing which should forever bide
On earth, her beauteous memory to set
In fitting frame that no age could forget,
Her name in lovely April's name did hide,
And leave it there, eternally allied
To all the fairest flowers Spring did beget.
And when fair Aphrodite passed from earth,
Her shrines forgotten and her feasts of mirth,
A holier symbol still in seal and sign,
Sweet April took, of kingdom most divine,
When Christ ascended, in the time of birth
Of spring anemones, in Palestine.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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The Virgin
. Mother! whose virgin bosom was uncrost
With the least shade of thought to sin allied.
Woman! above all women glorified,
Our tainted nature's solitary boast;
Purer than foam on central ocean tost;
Brighter than eastern skies at daybreak strewn
With fancied roses, than the unblemished moon
Before her wane begins on heaven's blue coast;
Thy image falls to earth. Yet some, I ween,
Not unforgiven the suppliant knee might bend,
As to a visible Power, in which did blend
All that was mixed and reconciled in thee
Of mother's love with maiden purity,
Of high with low, celestial with terrene!
poem by William Wordsworth
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Hermes
Soothsay. Behold, with rod twy-serpented,
Hermes the prophet, twining in one power
The woman with the man. Upon his head
The cloudy cap, wherewith he hath in dower
The cloud's own virtue--change and counterchange,
To show in light, and to withdraw in pall,
As mortal eyes best bear. His lineage strange
From Zeus, Truth's sire, and maiden May--the all-
Illusive Nature. His fledged feet declare
That 'tis the nether self transdeified,
And the thrice-furnaced passions, which do bear
The poet Olympusward. In him allied
Both parents clasp; and from the womb of Nature
Stern Truth takes flesh in shows of lovely feature.
poem by Francis Thompson
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HOW many of the body's health complain,
HOW many of the body's health complain,
When they some deeper malady conceal;
Some unrest of the souled, some secret pain,
Which thus its presence doth to them reveal.
Vain would we seek, by the physician's aid,
A name for this soul-sickness e'er to find;
A remedy for health and strength decayed,
Whose cause and cure are wholly of the mind
To higher nature is the soul allied,
And restless seeks its being's Source to know;
Finding not health nor strength in aught beside;
How often vainly sought in things below,
Whether in sunny clime, or sacred stream,
Or plant of wondrous powers of which we dream!
poem by Jones Very
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Sonnet. Love
Go forth in life, oh friend! not seeking love;
A mendicant, that with imploring eye
And outstretched hand asks of the passers by
The alms his strong necessities may move.
For such poor love to pity near allied,
Thy generous spirit may not stoop and wait,
A suppliant, whose prayer may be denied,
Like a spurned beggar's at a palace gate:
But thy heart's affluence lavish uncontrolled;
The largess of thy love give full and free,
As monarchs in their progress scatter gold;
And be thy heart like the exhaustless sea,
That must its wealth of cloud and dew bestow,
Though tributary streams or ebb or flow.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
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Landfall
Landfall.
Normandy, the day the allied landed,
should like the holocaust not be forgotten,
it spelt the end of a malevolent empire.
When landing crafts hit the shore, many
brave soldiers died before they could step
ashore on the golden sand of Normandy.
By blind courage and a will of steel many
soldiers got to where banks are steep
seek shelter and rest before carrying on.
This, a hard war, yet an honourable one;
there are times when wars must be fought
as we cannot afford let the world drown.
Dictators come and go, but we must not
shirk in our duty to face them squarely
[...] Read more
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Largess
Go forth in life, O friend, not seeking love;
A mendicant that with imploring eye
And outstretched hand asks of the passers-by
The alms his strong necessities may move.
For such poor love, to pity near allied,
Thy generous spirit should not stoop and wait,
A suppliant, whose prayer may be denied,
Like a spurned beggar's at a palace gate!
But thy heart's affluence lavish, uncontrolled,
The largess of thy love give full and free,
As monarchs in their progress scatter gold.
And be thy heart like the exhaustless sea,
That must its wealth of cloud and dew bestow,
Though tributary streams or ebb or flow.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
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Thomas Chatterton
WITH Shakspeare's manhood at a boy's wild heart,—
Through Hamlet's doubt to Shakspeare near allied,
And kin to Milton through his Satan's pride,—
At Death's sole door he stooped, and craved a dart;
And to the dear new bower of England's art,—
Even to that shrine Time else had deified,
The unuttered heart that soared against his side,—
Drove the fell point, and smote life's seals apart.
Thy nested home-loves, noble Chatterton;
The angel-trodden stair thy soul could trace
Up Redcliffe's spire; and in the world's armed space
Thy gallant sword-play:—these to many an one
Are sweet for ever; as thy grave unknown
And love-dream of thine unrecorded face.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Bruises
Bruises smack me silly,
Naveed cries some time for pity,
Then the reality mixes with fiction
And he staggers at the task ahead,
To be reported by the people-in-charge.
My heart stings from dresses and others,
Going into the territory of love is golden.
My heat now sings swearing towards the goal,
Swerving in ways called rivers and mud.
A swamp has allied with marsh,
And a fatal prize is fortunate;
My prizes are luckier then most,
For the marsh is honoured and
Then blessed, liking us instead.
These grazes are not any longer bruises,
And stinging issues command me to state
The facts. I do not know the sense and reason
[...] Read more
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Profundity Of Paternal Pain
My purpose in life absconded, is the reason why
The more I live, the more I die-
At times, I no longer have tears, to even cry;
I have not given in to despair though, nor would I try
To push back the pain that I feel inside;
It has become a battle between sorrow and stubborn pride,
Where all that is left for me to decide
Is how often I will be on either side
Of this great, profound, emotional divide-
Betwixt the death of my soul and where I am allied!
With time, the pain does not dull or lessen,
Nor does it serve to teach me a lesson;
The pain is my penance for what others have done,
And the struggle will not cease until I have won!
-Maurice Harris,17 August 2011
poem by Maurice Harris
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