Quotes about myrtle, page 8
Out Yourself - Not
Inside a pond, and underwater
there lived a creature, with her daughter.
They carried both their residences
though minus any picket fences
wherever they would swim or walk
as a protection from the hawk.
You see, some hawks have fancy tastes
like oyster jam and turtle paste,
so preached the old one to her daughter
there in the cold and murky water.
But soon there only was one turtle
because the hawk had eaten Myrtle.
The moral follows now, pray tell
you're pretty safe within your shell.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Lois Spears
Here lies the body of Lois Spears,
Born Lois Fluke, daughter of Willard Fluke,
Wife of Cyrus Spears,
Mother of Myrtle and Virgil Spears,
Children with clear eyes and sound limbs --
(I was born blind)
I was the happiest of women
As wife, mother and housekeeper,
Caring for my loved ones,
And making my home
A place of order and bounteous hospitality:
For I went about the rooms,
And about the garden
With an instinct as sure as sight,
As though there were eyes in my finger tips --
Glory to God in the highest.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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To An Unfortunate Woman, Whom The Author Had Known In The Days Of Her Innocence
Myrtle leaf, that ill besped
Pinest in the gladsome ray,
Soiled beneath the common tread
Far from thy protecting spray!
When the partridge o'er the sheaf
Whirred along the yellow vale,
Sad, I saw thee, heedless leaf!
Love the dalliance of the gale.
Lightly didst thou, foolish thing!
Heave and flutter to his sighs,
While the flatt'rer on his wing
Wooed and whispered thee to rise.
Gayly from thy mother stalk
Wert thou danced and wafted high;
Soon on this unsheltered walk
Flung to fade, to rot, and die!
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Near the craddle [Lângă leagăn]
On your forehead a nice wreath made of myrtle I will place
And around your neck I'll tie a rich necklace full of grace,
On your smooth and rounded arm like the lily petals, white,
I'll put bracelets, coral red, and fine rubies shining bright.
A nice dress as white as foam, light as clouds which cross the sky,
On your shoulders I will hang and like angels who can fly
You will also fly away – but instead of mother's kiss
Your dear soul will then be rocked by sweet love and perfect bliss.
poem by Veronica Micle, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Sonnet 18
it had rained fully four seasons.
there was thought the sun had died.
the philosopher produced sound reasons.
it was widely presumed the promise lied.
Man had invented the man-made fire
and covered its images in myrtle leaves.
the sound of burning mounted higher
and deafened night in stench of weeds.
the garden had been left unattended
and in the city anarchy was law.
love of Man had all but ended.
in the grand design there was a flaw.
time lost its direction. future stopped.
then sun's eye from dim cloud popped.
poem by Doug Bentley
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To His lady,
IMPLORING HER TO BE TRUE
MISTRESS of me, mistress of all the arts
And charms that sway men's hot ungoverned hearts,
Receive their tribute--smile at their defeat;
I do not ask that you should spare them, sweet.
Only I ask that in the secret shrine
No prayers be heard, no offering laid, but mine.
Each man who sees your eyes must needs lay down
Low at your feet the votive myrtle crown:
Let them bring crowns to die beneath your feet;
I, only I, must bring the crown you wear
Shadowing the sombre glory of your hair.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Chanson
A RING of gold and a milk-white dove
Are goodly gifts for thee,
And a hempen rope for your own love
To hang upon a tree.
For you a House of Ivory
(Roses are white in the rose-bower)!
A narrow bed for me to lie
(White, O white, is the hemlock flower)!
Myrtle and jessamine for you
(O the red rose is fair to see)!
For me the cypress and the rue
(Fairest of all is rose-mary)!
For you three lovers of your hand
(Green grass where a man lies dead)!
For me three paces on the sand
(Plant lilies at my head)!
poem by Oscar Wilde
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O Gather Me the Rose
O gather me the rose, the rose,
While yet in flower we find it,
For summer smiles, but summer goes,
And winter waits behind it.
For with the dream foregone, foregone,
The deed foreborn forever,
The worm Regret will canker on,
And time will turn him never.
So were it well to love, my love,
And cheat of any laughter
The fate beneath us, and above,
The dark before and after.
The myrtle and the rose, the rose,
The sunshine and the swallow,
The dream that comes, the wish that goes
The memories that follow!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Love's Reality
I walk, I trust, with open eyes;
I've travelled half my worldly course;
And in the way behind me lies
Much vanity and some remorse;
I've lived to feel how pride may part
Spirits, tho' matched like hand and glove;
I've blushed for love's abode, the heart;
But have not disbelieved in love;
Nor unto love, sole mortal thing
Or worth immortal, done the wrong
To count it, with the rest that sing,
Unworthy of a serious song;
And love is my reward: for now,
When most of dead'ning time complain,
The myrtle blooms upon my brow,
Its odour quickens all my brain.
poem by Coventry Patmore
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Sonnet
With wayworn feet a Pilgrim woe-begone
Life's upward road I journeyed many a day,
And hymning many a sad yet soothing lay
Beguil'd my wandering with the charms of song.
Lonely my heart and rugged was my way,
Yet often pluck'd I as I past along
The wild and simple flowers of Poesy,
And as beseem'd the wayward Fancy's child
Entwin'd each random weed that pleas'd mine eye.
Accept the wreath, BELOVED! it is wild
And rudely garlanded; yet scorn not thou
The humble offering, where the sad rue weaves
'Mid gayer flowers its intermingled leaves,
And I have twin'd the myrtle for thy brow.
poem by Robert Southey
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