Quotes about vintage, page 8
Old-Fashioned Child.
He was born old; they who got him were grey,
And quaint as things that long had seasoned here
When that he came — a too true vintage of
The lateness of the brewing blood and brain;
Even as in their whims and ways he had
Existed, an imaginary thing,
Twin-lived in him and her e'en long before
They were united in the dream of love.
And therefore comes it that his young life wears
So old a countenance, that he in sooth
Is so too grown-up in his ways and whims;
Unlike the youngling of an early pair,
Who's ta'en the freshness of their favour on,
And is as frisky as the youth of love.
poem by Robert Crawford
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The Sonnet
PURE form, that like some chalice of old time
Contain'st the liquid of the poet's thought
Within thy curving hollow, gem-enwrought
With interwoven traceries of rhyme,
While o'er thy brim the bubbling fancies climb,
What thing am I, that undismayed have sought
To pour my verse with trembling hand untaught
Into a shape so small yet so sublime?
Because perfection haunts the hearts of men,
Because thy sacred chalice gathered up
The wine of Petrarch, Shakspere, Shelley -- then
Receive these tears of failure as they drop
(Sole vintage of my life), since I am fain
To pour them in a consecrated cup.
poem by Edith Wharton
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Past and Future.
MY future will not copy fair my past
On any leaf but Heaven's. Be fully done,
Supernal Will ! I would not fain be one
Who, satisfying thirst and breaking fast
Upon the fulness of the heart, at last
Saith no grace after meat. My wine hath run
Indeed out of my cup, and there is none
To gather up the bread of my repast
Scattered and trampled ! Yet I find some good
In earth's green herbs, and streams that bubble up
Clear from the darkling ground, -- content until
I sit with angels before better food.
Dear Christ ! when thy new vintage fills my cup,
This hand shall shake no more, nor that wine spill.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Change
1 I shall not wonder more, then,
2 But I shall know.
3 Leaves change, and birds, flowers,
4 And after years are still the same.
5 The sea's breast heaves in sighs to the moon,
6 But they are moon and sea forever.
7 As in other times the trees stand tense and lonely,
8 And spread a hollow moan of other times.
9 You will be you yourself,
10 I'll find you more, not else,
11 For vintage of the woeful years.
12 The sea breathes, or broods, or loudens,
13 Is bright or is mist and the end of the world;
14 And the sea is constant to change.
[...] Read more
poem by Raymond Knister
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Just You
there're a few light clouds floating above the sky,
there're a few light breeze blowing on the ground,
oh, who told me not to miss you?
it's just you, only you, who have appeared in my dreams
for many times!
you're the cinderella's cystal shoe, taking it,
the poor ordinary girl can be the brilliant princess suddenly,
you're the yeast for vintage, adding it,
the small and acerb grapes can become a glass of superb red wine/nectar amazingly.
you have the magic of turning the ugly duck into a beautiful white swan,
you're like the spring wind only for whom the flowers come into blossom.
poem by Gina Guo
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Sonnet XXXIII: I Wake
I wake! delusive phantoms hence, away!
Tempt not the weakness of a lover's breast;
The softest breeze can shake the halcyon's nest,
And lightest clouds o'ercast the dawning ray!
'Twas but a vision! Now, the star of day
Peers, like a gem on Aetna's burning crest!
Wellcome, ye Hills, with golden vintage drest;
Sicilian forests brown, and vallies gay!
A mournful stranger, from the Lesbian Isle,
Not strange, in loftiest eulogy of Song!
She, who could teach the Stoic's cheek to smile,
Thaw the cold heart, and chain the wond'ring throng,
Can find no balm, love's arrows to beguile;
Ah! Sorrows known too soon! and felt too long!
poem by Mary Darby Robinson
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Love Sonnet 06: How Will I Paint Your Smile, So Mystical,
How will I paint your smile, so mystical,
I'm no Rembrandt or Michelangelo,
Your voice, soothing and musical,
I grope for notes, to strike the keys aglow;
How can I save the imprints of your touch,
Preserve endearing kiss-marks of your lips?
Will taxidermy prove to help me much?
Is it some worth when juice of life it sips?
What if to have the fruit, I claim the tree?
To drink the vintage wine, I buy the cask?
What is much better than a lifelong spree,
Instead of brief Heavens that lovers ask?
.....Might if we make as one great whole our hearts,
.....Would all these things get added up as parts?
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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I Shall Not Go With Pain
I shall not go with pain
Whether you hold me, whether you forget
My little loss and my immortal gain.
O flower unseen, O fountain sealed apart!
Give me one look, one look remembering yet,
Sweet heart.
I shall not go with grief,
Whether you call me, whether you deny
The crowning vintage and the golden sheaf.
O, April hopes that blossom but to close!
Give me one look, one look and so good-bye,
Red rose.
I shall not go with sighs,
But as full-crowned the warrior leaves the fight,
Dawn on his shield and death upon his eyes.
O, life so bitter-sweet and heaven so far!
Give me one look, one look and so good night,
My star.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Song
I shall not go with pain
Whether you hold me, whether you forget
My little loss and my immortal gain.
O flower unseen, O fountain sealed apart!
Give me one look, one look remembering yet,
Sweet heart.
I shall not go with grief,
Whether you call me, whether you deny
The crowning vintage and the golden sheaf.
O, April hopes that blossom but to close!
Give me one look, one look and so good-bye,
Red rose.
I shall not go with sighs,
But as full-crowned the warrior leaves the fight,
Dawn on his shield and death upon his eyes.
O, life so bitter-sweet and heaven so far!
Give me one look, one look and so good night,
My star.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Cocktail warrior
ride in blues with glamorous shade where
every blink resounded echo horn listen
as the sun goes down to rest
sound waste no time, people gather, like
X-men ready to bang anybody who wish to
fight; trembling but not afraid, happy but
not victorious for the sun has yet to close
stream patches the rock of strength, as the
river ready to take charm in the sea, many
have leaded its way, until the vintage of
time is willing to climb
tonsure zero break the innocent mind, the
child tongue rushes to speak and the feet
ready to walk, chain the riddle of sight
and quest the wisdom to go
the armor shine but the sword is dull....
poem by Antonio Liao
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