Quotes about may, page 8
A Fable For Critics
Phoebus, sitting one day in a laurel-tree's shade,
Was reminded of Daphne, of whom it was made,
For the god being one day too warm in his wooing,
She took to the tree to escape his pursuing;
Be the cause what it might, from his offers she shrunk,
And, Ginevra-like, shut herself up in a trunk;
And, though 'twas a step into which he had driven her,
He somehow or other had never forgiven her;
Her memory he nursed as a kind of a tonic,
Something bitter to chew when he'd play the Byronic,
And I can't count the obstinate nymphs that he brought over
By a strange kind of smile he put on when he thought of her.
'My case is like Dido's,' he sometimes remarked;
'When I last saw my love, she was fairly embarked
In a laurel, as _she_ thought-but (ah, how Fate mocks!)
She has found it by this time a very bad box;
Let hunters from me take this saw when they need it,-
You're not always sure of your game when you've treed it.
Just conceive such a change taking place in one's mistress!
What romance would be left?-who can flatter or kiss trees?
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poem by James Russell Lowell
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At the top
How do you feel at the top of the ladder?
You may look happy with enough money as trader
Fortune smiles with top slot in the ministry as leader
Good contracts and successful planner as bidder
This is how one takes as successful person
He has enough of everything to feel happy with reason
Fortune and fame may push you to extreme side
You may have every opportunity to see the world as too wide
Wise person may take it lightly and stay fully calm
He may consider it as reward and stay in farm
After all it has come through his hard work and labor
He has everything to rejoice and nothing to harbor
If you can digest the honor and fame in right spirit
Then you may see the clear road ahead in dark or dimly lit
It may encourage you to do more and stay fit
Failure or success may be right way to treat
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A no to pressure
One has to bow or relent under pressure
It has to be implemented to reassure
No one can be confident or so sure
Success has no scale to measure
There is no hardness or softness
It has to be judged with its fineness
It may look different to different people
We should be in position to deliver it or fully capable
You may face the residence at every step
Their words may be harsh to feel like slaps
It may have same damaging effect
They may come in form of hostile act
You may open one door but another may be closed
Threats may emerge and danger may be posed
You may not be in position to ward it off
You may have to try it for final stop
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Avowyng of Arthur
He that made us on the mulde,
And fair fourmet the folde,
Atte His will, as He wold,
The see and the sande,
Giffe hom joy that will here
Of dughti men and of dere,
Of haldurs that before us were,
That lifd in this londe.
One was Arther the Kinge,
Wythowtun any letting;
Wyth him was mony lordinge
Hardi of honde.
Wice and war ofte thay were,
Bold undur banere,
And wighte weppuns wold were,
And stifly wold stond.
This is no fantum ne no fabull;
Ye wote wele of the Rowun Tabull,
Of prest men and priveabull,
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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Solomon on the Vanity of the World, A Poem. In Three Books. - Knowledge. Book I.
The bewailing of man's miseries hath been elegantly and copiously set forth by many, in the writings as well of philosophers as divines; and it is both a pleasant and a profitable contemplation.
~
Lord Bacon's Advancement of Learning.
The Argument
Solomon, seeking happiness from knowledge, convenes the learned men of his kingdom; requires them to explain to him the various operations and effects of Nature; discourses of vegetables, animals and man; proposes some questions concerning the origin and situation of the habitable earth: proceeds to examine the system of the visible heaven: doubts if there may not be a plurality of worlds; inquires into the nature of spirits and angels, and wishes to be more fully informed as to the attributes of the Supreme Being. He is imperfectly answered by the Rabbins and Doctors; blames his own curiosity: and concludes that, as to human science, All Is Vanity.
Ye sons of men with just regard attend,
Observe the preacher, and believe the friend,
Whose serious muse inspires him to explain
That all we act and all we think is vain:
That in this pilgrimage of seventy years,
O'er rocks of perils and through vales of tears
Destined to march, our doubtful steps we tend,
Tired with the toil, yet fearful of its end:
That from the womb we take our fatal shares
Of follies, passions, labours, tumults, cares;
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poem by Matthew Prior
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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto III.
I.
Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child!
Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart?
When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled,
And then we parted,--not as now we part,
But with a hope.--
Awaking with a start,
The waters heave around me; and on high
The winds lift up their voices: I depart,
Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by,
When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.
II.
Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
That knows his rider. Welcome, to their roar!
Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead!
Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed,
And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale,
Still must I on; for I am as a weed,
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Canto the Third
I.
Is thy face like thy mother’s, my fair child!
Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart?
When last I saw thy young blue eyes, they smiled,
And then we parted, - not as now we part,
But with a hope. -
Awaking with a start,
The waters heave around me; and on high
The winds lift up their voices: I depart,
Whither I know not; but the hour’s gone by,
When Albion’s lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.
II.
Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
That knows his rider. Welcome to their roar!
Swift be their guidance, wheresoe’er it lead!
Though the strained mast should quiver as a reed,
[...] Read more
poem by Byron from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1818)
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III. The Other Half-Rome
Another day that finds her living yet,
Little Pompilia, with the patient brow
And lamentable smile on those poor lips,
And, under the white hospital-array,
A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise
You'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again,
Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle.
It seems that, when her husband struck her first,
She prayed Madonna just that she might live
So long as to confess and be absolved;
And whether it was that, all her sad life long
Never before successful in a prayer,
This prayer rose with authority too dread,—
Or whether, because earth was hell to her,
By compensation, when the blackness broke
She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue,
To show her for a moment such things were,—
Or else,—as the Augustinian Brother thinks,
The friar who took confession from her lip,—
When a probationary soul that moved
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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A simple journey
There was absolutely no movement in his body
He was resting on ground motionless like anybody
It looked as if one simple object was lying?
All thought he was dead or was dieing
These are the saddest moments in the life
It is easy to walk on the edge of knife
But difficult to survive in the real show
All difficulties surround and blow
The dead person might have not thought an early end
He may not have foes but so many friends
It may be his miscalculation that end in any case may not near
He may be living in confidence without any fear
Stories gathered round that he was lavish and lovely
He believed in life to be spent very smoothly
It was his life style that made him very frank
He lived merrily, toasted others and drank
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Smile with laughter
Cheerful sound with big sound is called laugh
You energy is consumed almost half
Worries and tension disappear altogether
It has nothing to do with any whether
It is good medicine for incurable diseases
Person suffers from pain and continues to decease
Good laugh provides him easy means to live
All worries and tension remain to be relieved
Good laugh always pleases others
It doesn’t affect others or bother
It is considered as God’s gift
It helps to remove even old rift
Have you ever witnessed child’s smile?
You continue to enjoy for a while
Friendship may grow with smiling gesture
It may end up with bright future
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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